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. 1 





Alaska Steamship Company 

Blockhouse at Sitka 














NORTH TO NOME 


by 

LOUISE ANITA MARTIN 


Illustrated with Photographs 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 

ALBERfyWHITMAN 

4co 

CHICAGO 

1939 


V- 


Copyright, 1939, by 
Albert Whitman & Company 



Printed in the U.S.A. 




©ClA 131151 

JUL -7 I939 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


Tickets for Two. 15 

North to Ketchikan. 27 

Indian Play Days. 48 

Sparkling Water . 64 

The Great Potlatch. 77 

Daniel Michael McCarthy. 88 

Sitka . 104 

Rough Ice . 125 

Summer Days in Juneau. 144 

The Fourth of July. 157 

Over the White Pass. 176 

Down to Dawson. 197 














CONTENTS—Continued 


PAGE 


Yukon Gold. 211 

The Magic Circle. 226 

A Quick Trip. 242 

The Most High Mountain. 269 

Among the Eskimos. 281 

At Home in Nome. 302 

Outside . 315 









LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE 

Blockhouse at Sitka.Frontispiece 

Lover’s Lane, Sitka.Facing page 15 

A haul of fish from Alaskan waters. 21 

Departure from Pier Two, Seattle. 29 

The Inside Passage. 33 

The planUpaved town of Ketchikan. 41 

Totem poles, Wrangell. 53 

Thinklit Indians in potlatch dancing costumes.... 59 

Fishing boats in the harbor of Ketchikan. 67 

A ceremonial Indian robe.. 73 

Native Alaska Indians. 83 

Alaskan Indian woman weaving a basket. 91 

Fishing boats and Alaska-Juneau Gold Mine, 

Juneau . 99 

Sitka, and Mt. Edgecumbe in the background.. 107 
Shaft commemorating Baranof’s Castle, Sitka.... 113 

Cathedral at Sitka. 121 

The Mendenhall Glacier. 131 

Juneau, and Mt. Juneau in the background. 139 

An old-time gold prospector. 149 

A gold mine at Juneau. 153 

The Lynn Canal. 159 

A street scene, Skagway. 169 





















LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS—Continued 

PAGE 

The old trail over the White Pass, 1898. 177 

Lake Bennett . 187 

A fox farm near Fairbanks. 191 

Five Finger Rapids, Yukon River. 203 

Shooting White Horse Rapids, Miles Canyon, 

1898 . 207 

The main street of Dawson, July, 1898. 213 

Prospecting at Atlin. 217 

Hydraulic Mining . 221 

An Alaskan Husky. 229 

An Alaskan dog team . 235 

Government Experimental Farm, Tenana 

Valley, Fairbanks. 247 

Richardson Highway between Valdez and 

Fairbanks . 253 

Resurrection Bay and the city of Seward. 259 

Mt. McKinley, the highest peak in North 

America . 271 

Another view of Mt. McKinley. 275 

Typical native Eskimo dress. 287 

A typical food cache in the Interior. 295 

A view of the tundra near Nome. 307 

The Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco. 311 





















• * ( 





Alaska Steamship Company 


Lover’s Lane, Sitka 
















Chapter I 

TICKETS FOR TWO 

D inner was no commonplace event on this 
particular night at the Turner’s house. A 
birthday cake, bright with twinkling candles, 
made the table festive, and everyone was gay. Once 
it seemed to Helen as if Mother was bursting with 
untold news and that Father took out his watch too 
often, but in her happiness over little gifts she had 
no time for such thoughts. 

Harry, the other half of the Turner twins, saw 
nothing but the fine, new kodak that lay beside his 
plate. What great pictures it would take! He would 
try it out the first thing tomorrow; it was too late 
today, for the sun would soon be sinking into San 
Francisco’s Golden Gate. 

“May we blow out the candles now. Pops?” asked 
Helen. 

“Blow hard,” advised her father. “Blow hard, 
for luck.” 


15 


North to Nome 


The twins blew. The flames of fifteen tiny candles 
flickered, faded, fluttered out. 

“Hurry up and cut the cake, Helen,” urged Harry. 

“Oh, I almost hate to spoil that beautiful Happy 
Birthday^ 

The doorbell rang, short and sharp. 

'Til go,” said Mr. Turner, his smile widening into 
a grin. 

After a moment of silence the twins heard voices 
in the hall. 

"It’s Aunt Lou!” they exclaimed joyfully, jump- 
ing up and rushing to the sitting room where Aunt 
Lou stood in front of a pile of luggage, shaking hands 
with Father and kissing Mother. Soon this favorite 
aunt was hugging the twins themselves in a hearty 
greeting. 

In another few minutes all were hack at the 
dining-room table, eating rich, brown birthday cake 
while Aunt Lou entertained them with stories of 
strange lands. She knew so much about far places 
that she earned her living by telling and writing about 
the good times she had all over the world. Harry 
liked to watch the little crow’s-feet crinkle around 
his aunt’s bright, blue eyes, while Helen secretly ad¬ 
mired, and envied a little, her fair skin, her glorious 
red-gold hair. 

Why,” cried Lou Turner suddenly, "I almost 



Tickets for Two 


17 


forgot to give a nice pair of twins their birthday 
present!” 

She rummaged around in her big, black bag, 
brought out picture post cards, then a checkbook, 
and, last of all, two little white envelopes. What, 
oh, what could they contain for a pair of twins 
having a birthday? 

‘"Come and get it!” 

"'Why—why—^what is this?” wondered Helen, 
tearing at her envelope. "It looks like—it looks like 
some sort of ticket.” 

"It is a ticket,” said Harry thoughtfully, examin¬ 
ing the oblong piece of paper with writing all over 
its face. "It’s a ticket to Alaska! ” 

"Now you can use your kodak,” sang Helen hap¬ 
pily. "Oh, thank you! Thank you. Aunt Lou!” 

Then Helen stopped short, a serious look cloud¬ 
ing her face. She turned to her father and her 
mother and, "That is, if we may go?” Seeing the 
happy, fond expressions of her parents, Helen dim¬ 
pled again and said, "Why, of course, we can go. 
You knew all the time that Aunt Lou was bringing 
this surprise!” 

"We’ll see snow and Eskimos and—^when do we 
go?” broke in Harry, who was always practical. 

"Yes, when does this trip start?” asked Mrs. 
Turner. 



North to Nome 


''We sail next Saturday at 9 a.m. from Seattle," 
replied Aunt Lou definitely. 

Gloom came into the room like a black cloud. 

"You see, the children must go to school all next 
week," explained Mrs. Turner. "The school term 
does not end until Friday afternoon." 

"And if we cut our classes, we lose credit for the 
whole semester’s work," added Helen slowly. 

Even Aunt Lou’s face was grave. "I could change 
the sailing date if it were not for that potlatch. But 
one single white woman cannot possibly change an 
Indian potlatch." 

"What is an old potlatch, anyway?" grumbled 
Harry. 

"Oh, you would love it! It is a kind of celebration 
with which Indians in Alaska mark an important 
event in their lives, such as a wedding or a coming- 
of-age. There is dancing and much feasting. The 
host gives gifts to everyone, often more than he can 
afford. Many times the whole family is made poor 
by too elaborate a potlatch. But the guests always 
have a good time." 

"Do the Indians have those feasts often?" ques¬ 
tioned Helen, hoping that the trip might be post¬ 
poned to some later date. 

"Not this kind of potlatch," answered her aunt. 
"This is a special affair to celebrate the coming-of- 



Tickets for Two 


19 


age of Chief Big Bear's only daughter. She is to be 
initiated into the tribe according to the ancient 
Thlinkit custom—not in the modem way. Probably 
no one, certainly none of us, will ever again have an 
opportunity to witness such an event. It will be 
almost like rolling back the years to look upon all 
the old Indian ceremonies. This information will be 
valuable to me, too, for it gives me exactly the ma- 
terial I need for my latest book on the northwest 
Indians." 

''And potlatches can't wait," stated Harry glumly. 

"No more than airplanes," agreed his aunt. Then 
her eyes brightened, and she exclaimed, "The ter¬ 
rible Turner problem is solved! We'll fly to Seattle!" 

"Grand!" chomsed the twins. 

Lou Turner sent Harry for the maps and pictures 
that were tucked away in her natty airplane luggage. 
Soon pamphlets, posters, timetables, and maps were 
spread out over the dining-room table. There were 
pictures of ships and sunsets and white craggy moun¬ 
tains, of leaping salmon and gleaming glaciers. 

"The shape of Alaska has always fascinated me," 
declared Aunt Lou, picking up the gayest red and 
blue map. "Sometimes it reminds me of a dragon 
leaping." 

"Yes, I see." Harry was eager. "There's his front 
foot over here in Unalaska, one of the Aleutian 



20 


North to Nome 


Islands, and his hind one in Ketchikan.’’ 

“Oh, it looks more like a kite to me, with a long 
tail of islands,” differed Helen. “But what strange 
names there are! Here are Cordova and Latouche; 
there is Sitka, and over here are the Chugach Moun- 
tains. Then there are plain names, too, like Cook 
Inlet and Seward Peninsula.” 

“And all the names are interesting,” replied her 
aunt. “They help to tell us the history of the coun¬ 
try. Explorers of many nations—France, Italy, Rus¬ 
sia, England, and Spain—left their names attached to 
towns and mountains all over the country. Then 
there are the native Indian names—” 

“Is Alaska a native name?” broke in Harry. 

“Yes, indeed, for the Aleuts, the people who lived 
on the Aleutian Islands, called the land Alayeska. 
Later the Russians called it Alashka, and now it is 
Alaska to us. Call it by any name you wish, for 
every one has the same meaning—the Great Coun- 
try; 

“I remember another name,” contributed Mr. 
Turner. “The people here in the United States used 
to call Alaska ‘Seward’s Ice Box’ because Mr. Seward 
urged Congress to buy it from the Russians in 1867. 
People certainly didn’t have a very good opinion of 
Alaska then.” 

“You are right,” agreed Aunt Lou. “In those days 




Roedcr-Alaska Steamship Company 

A haul of fish from Alaskan ivaters 










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Tickets for Two 


23 


there were few, indeed, who even suspected the 
wealth that lay in that great country/’ 

'Tike gold?” Harry asked quickly. 

‘'Gold is only a very small part of Alaska’s wealth. 
Food has been that territory’s greatest contribution 
to our country.” 

“Food?” Helen was surprised and looked it. 

“In 1867 we paid $7,200,000 for Alaska. Now the 
salmon industry alone pays to the American people 
twice that amount of money every year.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know that,” said Harry. 

“Unfortunately even today a great many people 
know very little about Alaska. Its history is thrill- 
ing, too.” 

“It might really be fun to learn history right where 
it was made,” acknowledged Helen, who never did 
like dates. 

“But it will not be fun to get up tomorrow morn¬ 
ing if you do not get to bed before midnight,” sug¬ 
gested her mother. 

“Tomorrow is Saturday, Mother.” 

“But remember, there is much we must do tomor¬ 
row to prepare for the trip,” warned Aunt Lou as 
they scattered to their rooms. 

On Saturday the Turner twins discovered that 
there would be a great deal to do during the next 
week. Barely would they be able to squee2,e visits 



24 


North to Nome 


to the city stores between sessions at school. At 
first Helen was insistent about buying three com¬ 
plete sets of woolen clothing, but her aunt’s sound 
advice kept her from making this common mistake. 

“How do you know we won’t free2;e up there?” 
asked her pu 2 ; 2 ;led niece. 

“Because I’m a sourdough, that’s why.” 

“A sourdough! Why that name sounds perfectly 
horrid! You can’t possibly be such a person,” Helen 
protested. 

“Nevertheless, that is exactly what I am, my dear, 
for when I was a little girl I lived in Alaska even 
through the long winter. Anyone who has ever 
called Alaska home is a sourdough.” 

“But why are you proud of such an ugly name?” 

“Because it means that I have lived in Alaska for 
more than a full year. The name sourdough origi¬ 
nated with the miners who stayed on their claims 
and lived largely on bread that they made themselves, 
which was baked sour dough.” 

“Now, I’d like to call myself a sourdough,” said 
Harry. “It sounds good to me, almost as adventurous 
as pirate. I don’t suppose visitors have any kind of 
name at all?” 

“Oh, yes, they have. They are called cheechakos.” 

“Which is just another name for tenderfoot,” 
complained Harry. 



Tickets for Two 


25 


"Tm afraid you are very nearly right,” agreed his 
aunt. ''But cheer up, for all sourdoughs were once 
cheechakos.” 

"That’s right. They must have been.” 

"One week from today,” slowly pronounced 
Helen, who still could hardly believe the good for¬ 
tune of the trip, "we’ll actually be on our way to 
Alaska.” 

At last the great day came. The giant red and 
silver plane seemed impatient to climb off the ground 
and up into the clear, blue sky. After gay good-byes 
Aunt Lou and the twins entered the comfortable 
cabin. Helen soon discovered a young woman, all in 
white. She nudged her brother. 

"Do you think we will need a nurse?” she whis¬ 
pered. 

"Oh, she is an air stewardess.” Harry was proud 
of his knowledge. "Every big airliner has one, to 
make the passengers feel just right.” 

Then they saw Pops and Mother, waving white 
handkerchiefs. 

The motor hummed. 

"We’ll be back—” 

Smoothly the plane rose. Higher and higher it 
flew until the airport was no more than a speck upon 
the ground. For the next five minutes no word was 
spoken, so busy was everyone gazing down upon 



26 


North to Nome 


the straight rows of streets that cut the city into 
tiny squares. 

Helen broke the silence. “It looks like a map 
down there, with doll houses for decoration.” 

“Gosh, this is great!” declared Harry happily. 

It seemed as though the plane were standing still, 
as though a toy town were passing beneath. Then 
suddenly the airliner was over the ocean. 

Harry and Helen and Aunt Lou saw a steamship 
beneath them, struggling with the waves, but their 
plane, free as a bird, flew north easily, headed toward 
Seattle. 



Chapter II 

NORTH TO KETCHIKAN 

Beside the Seattle pier the big white ship waited 
patiently, while hundreds of men and women 
chmbed the gangplank, swarmed over the decks, and 
crowded into the public rooms. 

“If all these people sail with us to Alaska, there 
won’t be much room for deck games,” thought Helen 
as she leaned far out over the rail. But she did not 
wish to bother her aunt just then with any kind of 
question, for Aunt Lou was saying good-bye to her 
friends, the Carletons, who had come to see her off. 

A shrill whistle shook the ship. In less than a 
minute long lines of visitors were filing down the 
gangplank. Soon the Carletons, too, were standing 
beside the vessel, waving and calling out last mes¬ 
sages. 

Harry came rushing up, both hands clasping rolls 
of serpentine. 

“Here, Sis, this is to use when we sail. An officer 


27 


28 


North to Nome 


just gave it to me. He said we throw it overboard to 
hold the ship down.” 

Aunt Lou laughed. “This is the way to do it.” 
She grasped the loose inner end of the roll in her 
hand and threw the paper ribbon into space. Mrs. 
Carleton caught it. Helen chose a purple pack and 
tossed it into the crowd. A little boy jumped for it, 
shouting with joy as he grasped the flying streamer. 
Soon the ship was held to shore by a thousand nar- 
row strips of gaily colored paper. 

The band struck up Auld Lang Syne. 

“See, we’re moving! We’re moving!” shouted 
Harry. “The serpentine is stretching; it’s breaking!” 

The propeller churned up white water. Slowly 
the steamer backed away from the pier. The tiny 
tug that towed it chugged along busily, steadily 
widening the span of water that lay between the 
ship and the shore. 

“There comes the pilot,” explained Aunt Lou, 
who was learning to anticipate some of the questions 
of her niece and nephew. “He will guide us until we 
are well out of the harbor, for he knows the cun 
rents and the shallows, the islands and the reefs that 
threaten steamships in these waters.” 

For an hour the three of them admired the beau- 
ties of Puget Sound. 

“Mystic islands, floating in an emerald lake—” 




Alaska Steamship Company 


Departure from Pier Two, Seattle 















North to Ketchikan 


31 


What are you trying to do, make up poetry?'’ 
Harry's voice startled his sister. 

“Not exactly," she replied. “I'm just trying to 
make a picture in my mind of all the lovely things I 
am seeing today." 

“I don't have to make pictures in my mind. My 
kodak here does the work for me." Harry fondly 
patted the black case that he carried with him almost 
always. 

“Save a few adjectives, and films, for Seymour Nar¬ 
rows," advised Lou Turner. “For a thousand miles 
this beautiful sheltered channel reaches toward the 
north." 

“But then, when do we sail right out into the 
ocean?" asked Harry. 

“We don't," replied Aunt Lou. “All the way to 
Alaska we follow the route that is called the Inside 
Passage. It winds in and out among half-submerged 
mountains, glides between great hidden rocks, and 
floats past countless islands, but always we shall be 
able to see land on one side or the other. It is the 
many islands between the Inside Passage and the 
ocean that protect us from the strong winds and 
waves of the Pacific and make possible this delight¬ 
ful, smooth sailing. There is only one place where 
we will feel the full sweep of the ocean, and that is 
when we pass through Queen Charlotte Sound." 



32 


North to Nome 


''When do we reach the Narrows?” questioned 
Helen. 

"Perhaps tonight after dinner if the tide runs 
right.” 

"After dinner? It will be too dark to see anything 
then! ” 

"One, two, three; wait and see,” laughed Aunt 
Lou. 

By one o'clock everyone was ready for the musical 
chimes that announced luncheon. During the mom- 
ing Harry had decided to try every dish listed on the 
menu, but at the table his plan fell flat. First of all 
there were two kinds of soup. Then there was fish 
and roast fowl, peas, beans, sprouts and potatoes, 
two salads, pie, pudding, and ice cream. Even a 
healthy boy cannot sample that great variety of food 
at one meal. 

After lunch Harry and Helen wandered about and 
agreed that there were just enough people on board 
to make the long days jolly. Among them the twins 
found companions near their own age, and soon they 
learned to enjoy the fine scenery between exciting 
rounds of ping-pong and shuffleboard. 

The deck was the most popular part of the ship 
all through the first day. Only a very foolish person 
would prefer his cabin when miles of fir forests fol¬ 
lowed the ship, when dozens of cascades tumbled 




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North to Ketchikan 


35 


down green mountainsides. The water was as calm 
as a mill pond, for on the west Vancouver Island 
kept the ocean breakers from smashing into the 
peaceful channel. 

Sometimes the ship carried its passengers past a 
bit of beach where white houses were built on the 
sand. “Fishermen,’’ Aunt Lou usually said in an¬ 
swer to the twins’ questions. But occasionally they 
glimpsed a fine, larger house half-hidden in a seclud¬ 
ed valley. Harry wanted toi know more about those 
homes; so he questioned one of the ship’s officers. 

“Remittance men,” replied the officer briefly. 

“Oh! I thought all the remittance men were in 
our West.” 

“By no means. There are many younger sons in 
Britain who, under the law, do not inherit an equal 
share of their fathers’ estates. Often such a boy, 
looking for easy money, gets into trouble at home 
and disgraces his family, who then sends him out 
here to the western edge of Canada on a remittance; 
that is, a regular allowance of money. Frequently 
these young men, after a fresh start, turn into re¬ 
spectable, law-abiding citi 2 ;ens. Many of them have 
been well educated and bring with them the culture 
and all the little courtesies of the Old World. They 
usually have musical instruments and fine libraries.” 

“What a lonely life!” sighed Helen. 



36 


North to Nome 


“So it is, Miss,'’ the officer agreed. Then he left 
them in order to attend to his regular duties. 

By eight o'clock that evening the tide had ebbed 
somewhat, and the ship entered Seymour Narrows. 
A green island appeared to float directly in the ship's 
course, but by winding and turning the captain man¬ 
aged to guide his ship safely past. The sides of the 
mountains closed in until it seemed to Harry that if 
he but stretched out his fingertips, he could touch 
the wooded banks that rose so high above him. On 
top of the water floated red buoys that warned of 
shallow places and hidden spires of jagged rock. 
Sometimes the ship scraped harshly against those 
danger signals as she crept cautiously through the 
narrow channel. Daylight was growing dim. Dark 
green patches of land that by day were islands be¬ 
came giants in the dusk. So the Turners sought light, 
warmth, and company within the friendly social hall. 

“In the third week of June the sun never sets up 
on the Arctic Circle." The speaker was a red- 
haired boy, a little older than Harry. 

“You know a good deal about the North, my 
lad," commented a pleasant baritone voice. 

“Well, I ought to," the boy answered. “I've lived 
in Alaska most all my life. My dad has a mine up 
there right now." 

“Boy, are you traveling alone?" 



North to Ketchikan 


37 


“Of course,” replied the lad. “I’m not afraid to do 
anything up here.” 

“That’s the spirit of the North. Good luck to 
you,” approved the friendly baritone. “I’m going 
up that way myself. Perhaps you can tell me some' 
thing about Skagway before we land.” 

“I’d like to, but now I must be off to my berth.” 

“A good idea for us, too,” agreed Helen. “Tomor^ 
row the day begins early, and brings Ketchikan! ” 

At that moment little did any of them reali 2 ;e that 
they were to meet again in Alaska. 

Midnight was as dark as any night at home. Harry 
lay quietly in his upper berth, listening to the splash 
of spray against the porthole. Without warning the 
ship began to roll mightily. 

“We’ve struck a rock! ” he cried out. 

But there was no one near enough to hear, for 
Harry had the cabin to himself on this portion of 
the trip. Quickly he started toward the porthole 
to investigate this strange bumping about. Halfway 
from his destination he was hurled to the cabin 
floor. 

“If we had struck a rock, we would still be on top 
of it,” he reasoned. “This must be—^why, of course, 
this is Queen Charlotte Sound, where the water from 
the whole Pacific sweeps into the Inside Passage.” 

He had a queer feeling in the pit of his stomach. 



38 


North to Nome 


''Oo-o-oh,’’ he groaned. ''If it's going to be like 
this long, I wish there were more islands out there 
to break up the waves." 

Harry's head was heavy; his feet were lead. With 
difficulty he made the lower berth. How cold his 
hands felt! He pulled all the spare blankets over his 
shivering body. He wished now that the ship was 
stuck on a rock. Then, at least, it could not flounder. 

A light tap upon the cabin door interrupted him. 

"Are you all right, Harry?" a soft voice called. 

"Just fine. Aunt Lou," he answered bravely. It 
would never do for a big boy like him to admit that 
he was seasick. 

The next morning a high wind and heavy showers 
kept the young Turners in their cabins, but there 
was never a dull moment for either of them. After 
breakfast, when Aunt Lou returned from the ship's 
library, she discovered them studying her very best 
map of Alaska. 

"Do you suppose we'll cross the border here and 
and go right into the middle of the Yukon country?" 
Harry was asking Helen. 

"Mm—m, I really don't know about that. Just 
look at this river. It must be hundreds of miles long. 
Why, it rises in Alaska near Skagway, then it flows 
northeast into Canada, past White Horse, and Daw- 
son, and Forty Mile, and Circle City until—" 



North to Ketchikan 


39 


''—it hits the Arctic Circle,’’ finished Harry. 
"'Can’t you see it is the Yukon, the river that flows 
down north?” 

"'‘Down north? Now you are being silly.” 

"I am not silly. On the Yukon you steam down¬ 
stream to go north.” 

“Right you are, Harry,” confirmed Aunt Lou. “If 
all my plans succeed, we will touch that Circle be¬ 
fore we are through with this trip.” 

By noon the rain had cleared, leaving the sky a 
soft, pale blue with wisps of cloud floating across it, 
like a filmy scarf. One by one the passengers sought 
the sun-deck, for no one was willing to miss a mile 
of the enchanting beauty that bordered the Inside 
Passage. The high mountains were painted in two 
tones of green—the darker shade for spruce and pine 
and cedar; the lighter, bright green for the willows 
and the alders. 

Harry was impressed by the hundreds of miles of 
forests. “There are many millions of newspapers in 
those trees if Canada takes good care of them,” he 
said, remembering a recent school project on forest 
conservation. 

“Well, I do hope that Canada plants a new tree 
for every one she cuts down to feed the paper mills,” 
replied his sister. “Aunt Lou has told me all about 
the big mill at Ocean Falls. So many people work 



40 


North to Nome 


there that they form a town all by themselves. They 
have their own stores, their own cinema— 

'’"^Cinema to you, perhaps, but it’s still movie to 
me.” 

'‘‘Well, the Canadians say cinema^ insisted Helen. 
"‘'Remember, this is their country, and they have a 
right to their own names.” 

"They certainly have,” agreed Harry. ""Still, if I 
were in Ocean Falls, I would go to a movie.” 

""Stubborn,” laughed Helen as she walked off to 
join a game of shuffieboard. 

Dinner on the second day was a hasty meal. Five 
miles ahead lay Ketchikan, Thlinkit Indians, and a 
potlatch. Everyone was on deck early, eager for his 
first glimpse of an Alaskan town. 

Soon the ship was feeling its way between hun¬ 
dreds of small fishing boats. 

""See those houses up there on the cliff?” It was 
the sixteen-year-old Alaskan boy, eager to show his 
knowledge of the Great Country. 

"Ts that Ketchikan?” inquired Helen politely. 

""I should say it is. The best houses are up on 
those hills. Some of them—the hills, I mean—are 
so steep that you have to climb stairways to get to 
the houses. The business district is down on the 
water, built on piles, most of it. Well, good-bye. I 
must be leaving now.” 






The plank-paved town of Ketchikan 










































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North to Ketchikan 


43 


He was off with no word of explanation for his 
hasty departure. 

''Strange boy,'' considered Helen as she watched 
him walk briskly away. "He's like a jackdn-the-box 
—pops up when you least expect him and disappears 
as suddenly. He acted almost as though he were 
lonely; yet had something on his mind that pre- 
vented his seeking companionship." 

She gave him no further thought. 

Rain greeted the visitors at Ketchikan. 

"Let's walk anyway," suggested Aunt Lou. "My 
friends, the Jacksons, live only a few blocks away, up 
on those cliffs our young friend was describing. Now 
I almost wish that I had told them the exact date of 
our arrival. We'll go up to see them anyway." 

The young Turners found the streets of Ketchikan 
very strange, for they were made of planks sup- 
ported by a framework of piles. As they walked 
along, a sudden rumble shook the foundations of the 
sidewalk. Helen paled. 

"An earthquake," she quavered. 

"It's just a motor truck," Harry assured her. 
"These planks shake with every little jolt." 

Alaska has long been famous for its hospitality. 
Helen and Harry, eating the Jackson's ice cream and 
cake, agreed that the country well deserved its repu¬ 
tation if many of the people were as pleasant as 



44 


North to Nome 


Aunt Lou’s friends. Already they were making plans 
for tomorrow’s entertainment, being careful to sug- 
gest a program that would be of special interest to 
Miss Turner’s niece and nephew. 

Next morning Harry was up with the sun; that 
is, he rose at three o’clock. The house was quiet; so 
he went out into the garden. The backyard climbed 
up a hillside, which was terraced, like a rock garden, 
so that berries, vegetables, and flowers flourished on 
the thin soil. Up and up the steep garden walk 
Harry climbed until he came to the fence that 
separated the Jackson’s backyard from the rest of 
Ketchikan. Lightly he vaulted the barrier and filled 
his lungs with the tangy northern air. He felt great 
this morning, brimful of energy. 

Halfway to the top of the hill he paused to look 
around. The houses, he thought, seemed to be carved 
out of the mountainside, so steep was its slope. Be^ 
low him he saw the places of business clustered to^ 
gether on their pile foundations at the water’s edge. 
In the halfimoon of the harbor the fishing fleet was 
preparing for the day’s work. Not far away he saw 
a mountain stream, splashing down the hillside to 
rush through the heart of Ketchikan and pour its 
energy into the bay. 

Harry walked until he was beside the stream, fresh 
and clear. Why, he could actually see salmon in it. 



North to Ketchikan 


45 


shining like silver in the foaming waters! They were 
swimming upstream to the spot where they had been 
born less than five years before. But they would 
never make the upper reaches of the river, Harry 
felt sure, for only a short distance ahead he saw a 
waterfall that leaped in white cascades down the steep 
hillside. No, a fish could never make that. 

Yet he followed the lively river to the falls. There 
he found salmon leaping in desperate efforts to climb 
those high, tumbling water steps. He watched a big 
red sockeye struggle against the force of the rushing 
water. It failed. It tried again, and failed. It tried 
once more, throwing itself into the dashing spray. 
This time it gained the top, from which spot it could 
swim on peacefully—^until it must attack another 
waterfall. 

Well, it might be worth all this frantic effort to 
reach the peace of inland pools, Harry decided. Then 
he remembered the words of his general science 
teacher: “Salmon return to the place where they 
were hatched to lay their eggs—and die.” 

“Funny fish,” thought the boy. “But how thrilh 
ing it is to see them fight so hard to reach their 
spawning grounds. Too bad, though, that their only 
reward at the end of the journey is death.” 

He walked beside Ketchikan Creek, watching the 
fish, until it reached the main street of the little 



46 


North to Nome 


Alaskan city. Once there he had eyes only for the 
jewelry stores displaying large golden nuggets; for 
the curio shops filled with toy totems, rare Indian 
baskets, blankets, beads, and fishing tackle. Scarcely 
could he believe that this modern city had sprung 
from a single fish cannery! Yet, according to writ- 
ten history, there was nothing in all this region ex- 
cept fish until in 1885 Mr. Martin built his cannery. 
Gradually the town grew, the canneries increased, 
the fur trade flourished, and Ketchikan found itself 
a prosperous community. 

Harry was back at the Jackson’s in time for break¬ 
fast, and afterward everybody saw more fish. They 
couldn’t help it in the cannery that Mr. Jackson 
supervised. Boats filled with squirming, slippery sal¬ 
mon, still fighting over their separation from the 
water, landed at the pier that was a part of the can¬ 
nery. The Turners watched the poor fish tumble 
through an elevator chute, followed them to roaring 
machinery that chopped off heads, fins, and tails and 
prepared the red meat for cooking in the cans. 
Even the twins were content to stay outside the hot 
steaming rooms, where the cooking was completed, 
but they did watch the cans come tumbling down 
a slide, all dressed up in bright-colored labels, ready 
to begin their journey to the States. 

Then there were the cold storage rooms, where 



North to Ketchikan 


47 


salmon were fro2,en so hard that when Harry cracked 
a small one with a stick it broke in two like a piece 
of crockery. Other fish were being packed in ice, 
but not fro2;en stiff. This kind, Mr. Jackson ex' 
plained, would be sold in the markets as fine, fresh 
Alaskan salmon. 

Immediately after lunch Aunt Lou walked with 
her niece and nephew over to the Thlinkit village 
which lies close to the town. There they would 
celebrate the potlatch. 



Chapter III 

INDIAN PLAY DAYS 

No smoke rose from the Thlinkit camp; no fire 
roasted the meat of deer or bear. 

“Something is wrong,’' murmured Lou Turner, 
ama2,ed at this very strange situation. “Fll wager 
there will be no potlatch here tomorrow.” 

She led the way through the silent Indian village 
finally turning her footsteps toward a white frame 
house that faced the open square. 

“Why, I always supposed the Thlinkits would 
live in tents.” Harry could not hide his surprise. 

“Indeed, they do not,” replied his aunt. “Even 
during the last century they had fine log houses. 
Now they have copied the white man’s dwellings 
as well as many of his ways. Of course, when they 
migrate in the summer to fish and hunt, they live in 
tents, or even in the open, just as many of us do 
when we camp out at home. But see, out on the 
veranda is Big Bear, chief of the tribe that is to 


48 


Indian Play Days 


49 


entertain with the potlatch. He sees us. Look, he 
is rising.'’ 

Slowly and with dignity Big Bear advanced to 
meet his guests. He was tall and dark and wore a 
bright red and yellow blanket over his sober shirt 
and denim jeans. 

''You have come. I am glad," was his greeting. 
"Big Bear has stayed away from the hunt today to 
wait for you. Big Bear sent you word of potlatch, 
but potlatch cannot be tomorrow." 

"What has happened? Sparkling Water is alive 
and well?" 

"Sparkling Water is well. But according to our 
old custom the moon is not yet right for Sparkling 
Water to be made a woman of the tribe. Sparkling 
Water will have bad luck if she comes out of hut 
now." 

"Yes?" Lou Turner encouraged him with her 
question. 

"So potlatch comes next week, early. You and 
two papooses stay with Thlinkits until potlatch. You 
are always our friend. Come in." 

The tall Thlinkit chief swung open the creaking 
front door, and, by bending almost double, dodged 
the low doorway. All the Turners followed his ex" 
ample. 

The visitors entered a long, dim room. At first 



North to Nome 


55. 

they could see nothing, but after becoming accus- 
tomed to the faint light they distinguished a huge 
square bed built of logs and packing boxes. Heaped 
upon it were pillows and a deep, soft mattress made 
of feathers. Upon the walls patent medicine adven 
tisements hung next to colored Bible texts. In one 
comer stood a big, black stove; in another squatted 
a brown squaw. 

''My Mary.” Big Bear s introduction was brief. 
"She not speak good English. She did not go to 
Mission School like my girl. Sparkling Water.” 

Without a word the wife of the chief went on 
with her basket-weaving. 

Big Bear drew up two chairs and a . packing box, 
motioned his guests to be seated. Then he left them 
with the silent woman. Harry looked around the 
room; Helen, toward her aunt, who smiled encour¬ 
agement. In a moment Big Bear returned with a 
phonograph under his arm. For the next hour he 
played Springtime in the Roc\ies and Limehouse Blues 
until all the Turners secretly wished the two records 
would smash upon the rough plank floor. Finally 
the chief, mindful of his hospitality, led his guests 
to a tent just behind his own house. 

"This for you and papooses,” he explained. 

"This is something like the real thing!” cried 
Harry with enthusiasm.when the chief had gone. 



Indian Play Days 


51 


"'Where do we sleep?’’ asked Helen, eyeing this 
new arrangement doubtfully. 

"On the ground,” replied her brother. "See, you 
wrap up in these deerskin robes and you’re as snug 
—as snug—” 

"I’m sure I would much prefer the Jacksons’ mat¬ 
tress,” said Helen impatiently. Turning to Aunt 
Lou, she went on, "Couldn’t we go back there and 
stay nights?” 

"Oh, don’t go soft and spoil everything, Helen. 
We will stay here, won’t we. Aunt Lou?” 

"Of course. We can’t go back after we have 
accepted Big Bear’s hospitality. That would be an 
insult to the whole tribe.” 

That wasn’t the decision Helen wanted to hear. 
At first she considered returning alone to the Jack- 
sons, but after a moment or two of rebellious thought 
she supposed she could sleep on the ground in 
deerskins for a few nights if Aunt Lou could. 

Harry was delighted. Camping out was his dream 
of a perfect vacation. Camping out in an Indian 
village in Alaska! Of course, he wouldn’t brag, but 
that was something worth while to tell the fellows 
back home. 

A loud shout interrupted the boy’s pleasant plans. 

"What’s that?” cried Helen, glad enough for an 
excuse to take her attention off the tent. 



52 


North to Nome 


Harry quickly slipped outside the tent-flap. ''It's 
the hunters coming in," he called. "Fishermen are 
bringing fish, too." . 

The fish came on the supper table. Helen swab 
lowed hard when she saw them. At home she never 
ate fish. But here—well, it looked as if it were a 
case of eat fish or nothing, and the Chinook salmon 
did look good. She took one little bite. She took 
another. Before the meal was finished, she had de- 
cided that perhaps the bed, like the meal, would be 
better than she expected. 

During the supper Big Bear unexpectedly added 
to Harry's happiness. "Tomorrow morning you go 
fish with Little Raven, my son," the chief promised. 

Little Raven was surprised and pleased at his fa- 
ther's decision. It was seldom that the big chief 
cared to show white visitors where the best fish were 
hiding. Nor had he ever before let the little chief 
go off alone with any white man’s son, for he loved 
and guarded this boy of his. He had spared no pains 
to train him thoroughly in the lore and ancient cus- 
toms of his people. It was his hope that when the 
boy had grown to manhood, he would be a leader 
among the people of this Thlinkit village. 

Little Raven was glad to obey his father’s com- 
mand, for he liked this new white boy. He would 
take him where the big fish jumped; he would use 




Underwood-Strattoii 


Totem Poles, Wrangell 






















Indian Play Days 


55 


a spear just as his ancestors did in the olden days. 

That night after he had rolled up in his deerskin 
within the tent, happy thoughts played around in 
Harry's head. Tonight the daylight was friendly. 
Even if it was still daylight at ten o'clock in the 
evening, it would be daylight again early tomorrow 
morning—for fishing. These days there was plenty 
of daylight in Alaska. 

But the next morning there was very little light. 
Rain was splashing down the sides of the tent, rain 
was drifting through the canvas doonflap. A strong 
arm shook Harry's shoulder. 

''What's the matter?" he asked drowsily. 

"Time to get up, fisherman!" 

"It's raining!" 

"That will make no difference to the son of a 
chief." 

"But I'm not a chief's son! Besides—still. I'm not 
a sissy, either. I'll show Little Raven I can take it 
as well as any chief's son!" 

"That's the spirit!" Aunt Lou cheered him on, but 
Helen only turned over in her sleep, seeking the soft" 
est spot in the skin robes. 

Clad in oilskins, the two boys met as planned and, 
without a word, sought the light canoe. Harry kept 
the raindrops out of his eyes long enough to notice 
that Little Raven was carrying no fishpoles. 



56 


North to Nome 


''How can we catch fish for breakfast without 
hooks and poles, Little Raven?” 

"You will see, soon.” 

Harry wanted to ask at least a dozen questions, but 
he remembered that Indians do not like white folk to 
chatter all the time. 

With skill bom of long practice Little Raven 
floated the canoe; he signaled Harry to jump in; then 
a shove, a leap, and the brown boy and the white 
were paddling out into the bay. 

It was fun to help with the oars, to feel the light 
craft dart gracefully along the smooth waterway. It 
seemed to Harry that he had never seen such peace- 
ful scenery in all his life. Everywhere evergreens 
thicker and brighter than any trees at home covered 
the steep hillsides down to the very edge of the jade- 
green water. The rain had turned to a fine mist that 
clung to the hollows in the hills. 

For the first time Harry noted how perfectly Lit¬ 
tle Raven fitted into the peaceful picture. He made 
no impatient gestures, his face was calm, his body 
was poised for instant action. It was as if the peace 
of Alaska had worked some sort of miracle upon 
the Thlinkit boy. 

Harry studied his companion’s almond eyes, his 
light, coffee-colored skin. There was something 
familiar about them. Why, Little Raven looked al- 



Indian Play Days 


57 


most like Kashimi, the Japanese florist’s boy, at 
home! 

Just then a spear flashed through the air, cut 
through the pale green water. For a minute the fish 
fought a stiff battle. It was his last, however, for 
with a practised hand Little Raven hauled him into 
the canoe. 

'This is a dandy fish,” Harry said admiringly. "Do 
you always catch them this way? That must be 
much more fun than fishing with a hook and line.” 

"No, not often do we try to catch fish this way 
since the white man came. We follow his ways now 
and most often we use the nets.” 

"I suppose nets are best when you are hungry. 
Still, if everyone could throw a spear like you—” 

Little Raven cut short his companion’s compli¬ 
ment. "A chief’s son must keep fresh his skill in the 
old ways. Then there is also the whale to catch 
with the spear. If we wish luck, we must practise 
plenty.” 

The way Little Raven had thrown the spear looked 
easy. Harry thought he could do it too, if only he 
dared to ask. 

"Could I throw the spear once, please?” The 
words simply burst out of Harry, he wanted so very 
much to try. 

"Try if you wish,” replied Little Raven, handing 



S8 


North to Nome 


him the spear. "'Then it will be time to return for 
breakfast.” 

Harry held the spear ready, his eyes down on 
the water. A dim fish-form swam idly toward the 
canoe. It turned, cutting fancy figures in the water. 

"Come nearer, oh, do come nearer,” whispered 
Harry. 

He clutched the spear and held it high. 

"Not that way!” 

The warning came too late. Splash, gurgle, splash! 
The icy sea filled Harry's ears and eyes. The whole 
Pacific Ocean tried to rush into his mouth. He 
kicked his feet, he threshed his arms about like flails, 
churning up white water. The cold sea numbed his 
feet; his arms were stiff within the oilskin sleeves. 
He kicked harder; he would show the Thlinkit boy 
that at least he was not a baby. 

Almost immediately his companion was beside 
him, stretching out a strong arm to help him into 
the boat. 

"That must have been a very big fish,” Little 
Raven remarked without a smile. 

"Fm glad it wasn't a whale! Perhaps I would have 
become a second Jonah.” 

"I learned about Jonah and the whale at the Mis- 
sion School.” 

"Is that where you learned your good English?” 













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Indian Play Days 


6 i 


“Yes, there, and at the Government School. I 
learned many other things besides—how to figure 
and spell and make furniture and till the land.’’ 

The big white fish was quite enough for break- 
fast; so nobody missed the one that Harry did not 
catch. Little Raven made no mention of the acci¬ 
dent or of his own part in rescuing his guest from the 
icy inlet. 

“He could have crowed over it,” thought Harry, 
“or made himself out to be a hero. Now I know 
there are good sports among these Indian boys as 
well as among my own white friends.” 

Later, when the twins were talking to their aunt 
in the quiet hour that followed supper, Harry men¬ 
tioned how much Little Raven and Kashimi looked 
alike. 

“Yes, these Thlinkits do look very much like the 
Chinese and Japanese, don’t they?” responded Aunt 
Lou. Then she went on to explain, “Even great 
scientists who spend all their lives trying to trace 
the beginnings of primitive peoples are not certain 
about the ancestry of the Southeastern Alaskan In¬ 
dians. However, many of these learned men now 
believe that hundreds of years ago Mongolian tribes 
in the north of Asia crossed to Alaska by way of the 
Bering Strait, which is less than sixty miles wide. It 
would not have been very difficult to do that, even in 



62 


North to Nome 


a small boat, since there are two islands in the strait 
that could have been used as resting places on the 
journey. Scientists who hold this theory point out 
that many customs, such as staining the teeth and 
shaving the head, were at one time practised by both 
the Japanese and the Indians of Alaska.*” 

The next evening Harry, Helen, and Aunt Lou 
sat in the background, watching and listening to the 
men gathered around Big Bear's bonfire. They 
were planning the hunt that would start in the 
morning, for it was time to catch the fresh meat for 
the feast, meat enough for more than one hundred 
people. The Turners watched Big Bear rise slowly 
and listened to him announce the names of the 
clansmen who would leave at daybreak for the hunt" 
ing grounds. 

“White Eagle, Wild Deer, Red Star," he called 
out. Turning to Little Raven, squatting near him, 
the chief finished, “And Little Raven. You will take 
White Harry with you. Let no harm come to him." 

When Harry heard those words, he could hardly 
keep from jumping up and cheering. Hunting wild 
animals with Indians in Alaska — that surely was 
something! That night White Harry dreamed he 
caught a bear with a lasso. 

While Harry fished and hunted and did things 
with the men, Helen was no less busy and happy. 



Indian Play Days 


63 


The long, bright days in the Thlinkit village were 
changing her from a person who liked soft little lux- 
uries into an outdoor girl who enjoyed hikes and 
tents and totem poles—and one who was tired 
enough at the end of the long days to be glad to 
crawl between deerskin robes. However, it was 
totem poles in particular that aroused her interest. 
The ugly, grimacing creature-faces fascinated her. 
With Aunt Lou’s help she saw that the workman- 
ship of each detail was perfect. 

Quickly Helen learned to read the stories told by 
these weird, painted poles. She found that each 
totem outside a house made public the history, the 
rank, and the origin of the family within. There 
was one, high as a telegraph pole, with an eagle and 
a giant crow carved upon it. That meant that a 
member of the Eagle Clan had married a Crow In¬ 
dian. There were also smaller figures of a bear, a 
wolf, and a whale. These figures represented the 
clan subdivisions and were therefore less important. 

She also learned that no brave could marry a 
woman from the same tribe as his own. In the olden 
days such a union was a crime, and couples who 
broke this law were punished by death. Even today, 
when Indian laws are much more lax, marriages be¬ 
tween members of the same tribe are considered a 
local scandal. 



Chapter IV 

SPARKLING WATER 

On the day before the great potlatch Aunt Lou 
was busy in the village, helping to prepare the feast. 
But Helen, unused to native cooking, found herself 
in the way of the bustling brown matrons. So she 
slipped away quietly along a familiar trail. She 
followed the spruce woods to a little waterfall where 
bright spray blew across her hot, flushed face. After 
some minutes of this she felt refreshed and ready for 
adventure. She decided to walk farther along the 
path and discover, if she could, where it led. 

The path wound up the steep hillside through ferns 
and forest and past large loose boulders. It clung to 
a ledge for a mile, dropping suddenly from the 
solid, rocky shelf down into a hidden valley. A spring 
was there, and halLcovered by ferns and roots and 
underbrush a crude frame shack was partly sunk into 
the soft earth. Grass and matted vines all but choked 
the pathway that led to the entrance. 

64 


sparkling Water 


6 s 


The door was open. Helen hesitated scarcely a 
minute before peering inside. In the darkness within 
she could distinguish nothing definite. Only an aban^ 
doned, empty shack was her first thought, and she 
was about to turn back when her foot slipped on the 
rotting doorsill and she found herself standing within 
the dim low room. 

Her eyes curiously followed a beam of sunshine 
that stole into the gloom through a high window 
and lit up a comer of the room. There upon a rough 
wooden bench lay a strange bundle. A bright blanket, 
two straight black braids, tiny feet encased in soft 
skin moccasins—that was what Helen Turner saw 
in that dingy comer. She was so startled that her 
very breath choked her. 

Helen stood silent while a do2ien thoughts raced 
through her mind. She wanted to leave, but her 
feet would not go. The girl on the bench must be 
asleep; at least she did not move. Or, could she be 
dead? The words hammered themselves into Helen’s 
brain, and the very thought made her almost faint. 

As she ga 2 :;ed spellbound, the figure stirred, sat up 
stiffly, and stared. Just stared. Helen looked back 
at black eyes set in deep hollows, at brown skin that 
was touched with pallor. She saw that the girl was 
not much older than herself. 

“Hello. I—just stumbled—in here,” said Helen 




66 


North to Nome 


falteringly when she could manage her voice. "'But 
you? Are you ill? Are you here alone?” 

There was no answer. 

“Are you a Thlinkit? Please tell me so that I can 
get help for you.” 

Still no answer. 

Helen thought maybe the girl did not realiz^e that 
she was a friend. So she walked over, sat down be- 
side her, took her hand in a friendly grasp, and 
smiled. Then she said, “I can see that you are not 
strong. I will return to the village and get help for 
you.” 

The thin Indian girl continued to stare hard at 
Helen, but said not a word. 

Helen jumped up and walked briskly toward the 
door. 

“Stop!” The single word was a command. 

Helen turned. The girl in the comer sat rigid, her 
lips made no sound, her hands no movement. This 
is a situation that is beyond me, and Fll be glad when 
Fm out of here, thought Helen, but she hid her emo¬ 
tion and said, “Did you call?” 

The girl nodded, nodded so emphatically that her 
black braids fell across her shoulders. 

“Oh, then you do understand me. I am so glad!” 

Another nod. 

“If you are in trouble, I want to help you.” 




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sparkling Water 


69 


The Indian girl did not reply. 

“Are you a Thlinkit?’’ 

Again a vigorous nod. That meant that she did 
belong to someone down in the village. 

“Shall we go home now, then?” 

An emphatic nod, but this time it meant “No.” 

“Tell me more about yourself. Please.” 

But the young Thlinkit would not speak. Instead, 
she rose and paced the floor, her face serious. Then, 
smiling to herself as if she had thought of something 
nice, she crossed the dirt floor to a pile of Indian 
blankets. Quickly she sorted them, casting each piece 
aside impatiently until, with a little cry of joy, she 
found a piece of grimy paper. She did not pause to 
rearrange the disordered heap. For an instant she 
disappeared into the shadows. When she returned, 
she had a stubby yellow pencil. 

Pencil and paper would tell the tale. Then she 
can’t talk, the bewildered Helen decided. But im- 
mediately she knew that couldn’t be right, for this 
Indian girl had uttered one word, the single com- 
mand, “Stop!” 

The girl’s long brown fingers gripped the stub of 
a pencil and formed words upon the piece of paper. 

“I,” Helen read eagerly, “I must not—” 

She waited while the pencil traced “talk.” 

“Why?” She was baffled by this mystery. 



70 


North to Nome 


The Indian girl wrote as quickly as she could: "'I 
am preparing to leave childhood behind me. Soon I 
shall be a woman of the tribe. It is an ancient 
Thlinkit custom to put girls away alone for a long 
period at this time of their lives.*” 

At last Helen thought she understood. “Then you 
are—can you be Sparkling Water, Chief Big Bear’s 
daughter?” 

An eager nod said, “Yes.” 

Helen gasped and sat down quickly on the dirt 
floor. What a situation she had stumbled into! 

“During this trial I may not talk to any but my 
nearest relatives. Not many follow this old way 
now. But I am the daughter of the chief, and he 
wished it; so I am following the ancient custom.” 

The chief s daughter stopped writing, held the 
pencil high, waiting, listening. 

“Come.” The tone was low, commanding, the 
voice of a big chief’s daughter. 

Although Helen had heard nothing, she obeyed 
quickly. Guided by the hand of the other girl, she 
sank upon the floor where the shadows were deepest. 
Thick blankets came tumbling down upon her. In 
a moment she was buried beneath a do2;en of them. 

This was no sooner done than Big Bear’s Mary 
was standing in the doorway. Her bulky form filled 
every inch of space and shut out all the light. In 



sparkling Water 


71 


her hands she carried food, which she placed before 
the hungry girl. She said something, too, but Helen 
could not distinguish the muffled syllables. Although 
she listened hard, forgetting the thumping heart and 
choking breath, the white girl could make no sense 
out of what she heard. All the conversation took 
place in the native dialect. 

After Sparkling Water had finished her meal of 
milk and berries, she arose and followed the older 
woman out of the cabin. 

Was this a-sign from the girl that she, Helen 
Turner, should escape from her uncomfortable posi- 
tion? Should someone see her coming from the 
cabin, what terrible thing would happen? Would 
both she and Sparkling Water be disgraced, perhaps 
punished according to some old tribal custom? Helen 
decided that she would be very careful of every 
move she made. But now she must have air, if only 
for a few minutes. The heavy blankets were chok" 
ing her. 

Slowly she adjusted her coverings just enough to 
free her nose and eyes. Through cracks in the roof 
above her she could see slender fingers of sky. Cob' 
webs, like filmy curtains, hung from the rafters. She 
centered her attention on the delicate patterns of 
the spiders’ webs, tracing wheels and diamonds, 
squares and circles. Probably that was what the 



72 


North to Nome 


Indian maid also did sometimes to help pass the time 
away. 

Although it seemed longer, it was only a few 
minutes until Helen again heard the voices of Spar- 
kling Water and Mary. They were returning to the 
cabin. Quickly Helen took a deep breath of fresh air 
and pulled the blankets back over her face. However, 
only Sparkling Water crossed the threshold. 

After a minute of silent suspense that nearly 
stifled Helen, her Thlinkit companion approached 
and signaled that she might now leave her stuffy 
hiding-place. 

''Are we safe now?'’ 

Only a nod, but it said, "Yes." 

"Does the woman suspect?" 

Sparkling Water took up her stub of a pencil again, 
turned over the soiled paper, and wrote, "I do not 
think so. She is my stepmother. My own is dead." 

There was no more space on the paper; so Spar¬ 
kling Water turned to her weaving. A piece of cloth 
grew slowly under her skillful fingers. The design 
was lovely, the fabric strong. Helen was fascinated 
by the vivid colors that would turn the cloth into a 
gay wrap, one that would dress up any girl fit for a 
carnival. 

Neither of them spoke a word during the next 
half hour. Yet the silence was not awkward; rather 




A ceremonial Indian robe 


Alaska Stcatnship Company 











sparkling Water 


75 


it was filled with a spirit of understanding. When she 
could stay no longer, Helen stepped close to Sparkling 
Water and shook her hand. It was the only way 
that she could show the Indian girl how very much 
she liked her. 

''You will surely be at the potlatch tomorrow?’’ 

Sparkling Water smiled and nodded. Then she 
quietly escorted her guest toward the open door. 

Supper that night was a quiet meal, for the hunters 
were tired from the chase. Luck and skill had brought 
them an abundance of fresh meat during the long 
day; so all were content now to sit back and plan for 
the feast and the great potlatch. Helen Turner 
watched the circle of faces very closely. If they 
knew that she, a white girl, had been with Sparkling 
Water during her testing time, there would probably 
be no potlatch tomorrow. Her eyes met those of the 
woman who had visited Sparkling Water in the 
cabin. There was no sign of recognition in them, no 
hint of accusation. 

After supper Helen slipped away for a quiet hour 
with her aunt. From her she learned that if the 
chief discovered that Sparkling Water had enter¬ 
tained a strange white girl in her cabin, the potlatch 
would surely be called off. 

"For,” she explained, "there would be nothing to 
celebrate if Sparkling Water had yielded to woman’s 



76 


North to Nome 


weakness, talk. So it was in the old days, and so it 
would be today if you had been discovered. Chief 
Big Bear is determined to enforce the old custom.'’ 

"'But it was completely accidental, and she did not 
really talk to me. She spoke only two words.” 

"I am afraid that, in the eyes of this chief, would 
be enough to condemn her as one unworthy of be- 
coming an honored member of the tribe. Perhaps it 
would even spoil her chances for a fine match.” 

"She talked to her stepmother.” 

"Yes, I know. During their seclusion girls are per¬ 
mitted to speak to their mothers or other women 
relatives who come to care for them. But speaking 
to a white girl—” Lou Turner looked doubtful. 

"I think she must get dreadfully lonely up there 
by herself for weeks and weeks. When I think of 
that. I’m not so sorry that I fell into her cabin.” 

"Yes, it can’t be a very pleasant time. I don’t 
think Sparkling Water did anything for which she 
should feel ashamed, for she certainly tried to obey 
every command exactly. She probably would not 
have spoken at all had she not feared that you would 
come down here and report to the members of her 
tribe that you had been up there. Remember, you 
must be careful not to recognize her when she attends 
her coming-out party tomorrow.” 

"No, I won’t. But what if she winks at me?” 



Chapter V 

THE GREAT POTLATCH 

The day of the great potlatch began with showers. 

"“Which is just right,” declared Lou Turner. 
''Now we are almost certain to have fair weather 
for the feast.” 

As soon as the clouds cleared, the men and the 
boys made a gay place of the village. They festooned 
bits of calico, leaves, and flowers along the path that 
led from the bay to the open square before the 
chief’s house. To Helen Turner it seemed as though 
they needed only Chinese lanterns to make a carnival. 
Then she spied a young matron of the village who 
was busy hanging bright blankets on a line that bor¬ 
dered the pathway. 

"There are my lanterns now,” she said to herself. 

Indeed, the holiday blankets were as gay as any 
Chinese lantern. Their da2,2,ling Imperial yellow 
backgrounds were traced with strange designs in red 


77 


78 


North to Nome 


and blue and black. They were expensive blankets, 
Helen knew. In any store in Ketchikan they would 
fetch a handsome price. She made a wish, even as 
she admired them in silence, that her Aunt Lou 
would get one for a gift at the potlatch. 

In the afternoon the braves of the tribe, and the 
squaws too, laid aside their usual plain cotton clothes 
and came out into the square dressed up in their very 
best Sunday blankets. They smiled and beat time to 
the throb of drums as they prepared for the dance 
that would welcome the invited guests from the 
neighboring islands. 

Soon canoes appeared within the inlet—bright, 
painted things that proved their makers’ skill in dec- 
oration. The costumes of the visitors matched the 
gaiety of their hosts. Moccasins of walrus hide, 
fringed leggings, and high feather headdresses added 
a festive note to the celebration. 

The village Indians met their friends at the water s 
edge with dancing and loud drumbeats. When the 
canoes landed, there was great rejoicing. Helen, with 
Aunt Lou and Harry, watched the Thlinkits go into 
their strange, old tribal dances. The young men 
swayed and swung their bodies to the rhythmic 
pounding of an ancient drum. Their dark eyes 
flashed; their arms shot out above their heads; their 
voices rose in a weird wailing. Each movement had 



The Great Potlatch 


79 


a kind of wild grace about it that marked the young 
men as artists. Yet, in that first dance, the feet of 
each performer stayed firmly planted on the ground. 

In a moment the scene changed. The Thlinkit 
braves leaped forward at a signal from their leader. 
They spun around and advanced in turns until they 
barely missed the fringe of spectators. 

From the east a band of older men appeared to 
greet the guests. Their leader wore a hideous mask 
to hide his features. From his buckskin cloak ugly 
animal faces leered at the audience. This frightful 
figure spun and reeled. A do2,en dancers followed. 

One huge youth with painted cheeks and glaring 
eyes shook a big rattle in Helen Turner's ear. For 
an instant terror gripped her. Afterwards Harry 
laughingly said that for a moment her eyes stared 
almost as much as some of the Indians'. 

Suddenly the din died down. The chief perform¬ 
ers stood as still as bron 2 ;e statues. That was the sign 
that it was time to turn to feasting. All the Indians, 
* hosts and guests alike, paraded up the gay pathway 
to the home of Chief Big Bear. 

The full moon was still struggling with sunlight 
when ten Thlinkit clans, and the Turners, sat down 
at Chief Big Bear's big tables. Harry found it great 
fun to taste all the native food. Large platters of bear 
steak and venison were kept moving among the 



8o 


North to Nome 


guests. Then there was also fat, rich meat that the 
young Turners identified as seal, besides dried fish 
and smoked fish, fresh fish and salted fish, cooked 
fish. Big bowls containing a thick liquid were scat" 
tered along the tables. Every Indian at the banquet 
dipped each bite of fish into one of those bowls be" 
fore he ate it. 

“Must be some kind of sauce,’’ reasoned Harry. 
“Guess ril try it.” 

Carefully he dipped a bit of salmon into the bowl 
before his place. Quickly he popped the choice mon 
sel into his mouth. 

Ugh! He shivered, gulped, and coughed. 

“Don’t you like seal oil, Harry?” whispered his 
twin. 

“I don’t see you eating any of it,” Harry answered 
under his breath, at the same time watching the In" 
dians relish the thick sauce. 

Lobsters, crabs, prawns, clams, devilfish, shrimps, 
and oysters made the rounds about once every quar" 
ter hour. At the end came large red and yellow 
salmonberries, which tasted fresh and sweet after 
the salty sea food. There was also much quass served 
to the guests that night. But this native drink does 
not make anyone so no one at this party tried 
to dance upon his head. 

The guests stopped eating and drinking only when 



The Great Potlatch 


8 i 


Chief Big Bear took his place to distribute the gifts 
that lay stacked up outside by an open fireplace. 
They followed him and formed a semicircle around 
the bla 2 ie. 

'This gift-giving is the most important part of 
the celebration,” Aunt Lou reminded her niece and 
nephew. "Watch closely.” 

"From the enthusiasm at the table I thought eat- 
ing was more important than anything else,” com¬ 
mented Harry. 

Big Bear, father of Little Raven and Sparkling 
Water, stood proudly before his people. To the 
chiefs of the neighboring tribes he presented blankets 
and rare baskets, precious things that would cost a 
white man much money. To those of lesser rank he 
gave knives and pieces of calico. 

At first it seemed strange to Helen that everyone 
was pleased with his present even though there were 
great differences in value. Yet, she saw that no one 
was dissatisfied if he received less than his neighbor. 
Every Thlinkit is brought up to believe that this sort 
of distribution is right and fitting. If he receives only 
a little because he is not rich and powerful, it is not 
cause for spite and envy, for some time he, too, must 
give a potlatch. When that day comes, because he 
has not received much from his chief, he need not 
worry about giving great returns. 



82 


North to Nome 


''So it all comes out even in the end,” Helen de- 
cided. 

The stack of gifts was dwindling under Big Bear’s 
lavish hand when he beckoned Lou Turner to step 
up before him. To her he handed a bulky bundle 
which, in its cloth wrappings, looked like a big bag 
of feathers. 

"You use this when the snow falls,” he advised. 

"Perhaps it’s a feather bed,” whispered Harry to 
his sister. "Wouldn’t that be funny?” 

Lou Turner thanked the old chief gravely. Then 
with slow stately steps she returned to her place 
within the semicircle. 

All Indian eyes were now upon her. She reali2;ed 
that etiquette required that she promptly undo her 
bulging package. With quick fingers she untied the 
knot that kept the bag so tightly closed. Carefully 
she inserted her right hand into the opening. Some¬ 
thing soft and silky touched it. She drew out and 
held on high a beautiful silver fox pelt. 

There was something for Harry, too—a splendid 
bow and a quiver full of arrows. He was mightily 
pleased. 

Helen was the last of all the guests to receive a 
gift. Sparkling Water presented her with a beautiful 
Chilkat blanket, one finer by far than any she could 
afford to buy from a curio store. 




Alaska Steamship Company 


Native Alaska Indians 
















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The Great Potlatch 


85 


'Tor my white girl friend, who likes the Indian 
art,'' Sparkling Water said simply. 

Helen's thoughts were in a turmoil. Was Sparkling 
Water, too, thinking of yesterday afternoon? She 
did not see how it could be otherwise. Helen 
watched the Indian girl closely for some sign of recog- 
nition, but Sparkling Water's face was serious, her 
manner gracious. In a few magic hours she had 
grown from a lonesome girl into a dignified young 
woman. 

The guests did not go home that first night nor 
the second. While the supply of fish held out, they 
danced and slept and sang in turns. By the third day 
Sparkling Water began to look very weary and 
sometimes just a trifle sad. But it was a fine pot- 
latch, worthy of a great chief. Everyone praised it, 
and some said that after such generous hospitality 
Chief Big Bear could marry his daughter to a fine 
young man, perhaps the son of another chief. No 
doubt the matchmakers were already busy with their 
plans, for a Thlinkit girl marries soon after her com¬ 
ing-out party. 

Impressed by these days of elaborate entertain¬ 
ment, Harry wondered about the financial burden 
of a potlatch upon the host. 

"Yes, he will probably spend much more than he 
can afford for an affair like this, but when his friends 



86 


North to Nome 


entertain, he will stock up again. Besides,'’ added 
Lou Turner, “here a man’s distinction and social 
position is measured by the goods he gives away; so 
a chief feels no embarrassment when he is poor be- 
cause of potlatches. Personally, I think they rather 
enjoy it, for this kind of poverty is a badge of honor.” 

“I rather hate to ask you this question. Aunt Lou, 
but—but—” 

“What is it you wish to know, Harry?” 

“Don’t think I’m fresh, but I really would like to 
know if you have contributed to the potlatch. We’re 
not staying here for nothing, are we?” 

“That practical strain of yours ought to make a 
good business man out of you some day, Harry,” 
his aunt replied with a smile. “I brought presents 
with me, which I shall distribute before we leave. 
However, our hosts know nothing of my plans; so 
their hospitality has really come from the heart, not 
from the hope of a full pocket.” 

The twins enjoyed the day after the potlatch even 
more than any of the feast days. Little Raven and 
Harry went off by themselves and practised with 
the new bow and arrows. Helen had a gay time with 
Sparkling Water, but never once was mentioned the 
experience in the hut. It was as if it had never been. 

The day for parting came much too soon. Al¬ 
most before they reali2;ed it, the Turners were wav- 



The Great Potlatch 


87 


ing from the deck of the S. S. Yukon, the ship that 
was to carry them north. 

“Good-bye, good-bye,’’ they called to their friends 
on the shore. 

“We shall be hoping—” promised Little Raven. 

“—for your return,” finished Sparkling Water. 



Chapter VI 

DANIEL MICHAEL McCARTHY 

The boat deck of the S. S. Yukon was popular 
after dinner in the 10:00 p.m. twilight. Then young 
couples strolled about the broad center space or sat 
upon the edge of a canvas-covered lifeboat. It was 
a fine place to wait for stars, for one could see so 
many of them at a time. But, unfortunately for the 
stargazers, they had to wait till near eleven now to 
be rewarded with a sight of the Big Dipper. Each 
June day was growing longer, brighter; soon there 
would be no night at all. 

Daniel Michael McCarthy, the sixteen-year^old 
red-haired boy, wandered alone among these small 
groups of people. Sometimes he silently joined them 
in admiring the rugged mountain scenery. Often, as 
he heard them wonder at the half-light that lingered 
long after they had hoped for a moon, he grew im¬ 
patient at their ignorance. 

If these silly grown-ups would only make a simple 


Daniel Michael McCarthy 


experiment with an orange for the earth and a candle 
for the sun, they would easily understand why the 
sunlight stays up here so long on summer days. Let 
them move the candle north toward the top of the 
orange and they would see that even though they 
should spin the golden globe round and round the 
light would not leave the tip-top portion. But if the 
person performing the experiment should bring the 
candle toward the bottom of the orange, then the top 
part would be in the dark. 

So it is with our own earth. When the sun rides 
in the north, as it does in summer, Alaska has days 
more than twenty hours long. As the earth spins 
upon its axis, the northland is bathed in continual 
sunlight. But when, in December, the sun is south, 
there is no light at all up at the North Pole. 

''Of course,'' Dan reflected, "these people were not 
lucky enough to grow up in the Great Country, like 
me. Perhaps if they had lived in Alaska through all 
its seasons, they would understand, too." 

"And just maybe," Dan went on to say to himself, 
a merry twinkle lighting his blue eyes, "these 
young ladies like to ask questions of the handsome 
officers." 

For a while longer he stood at the rail, until the 
shore line became indistinct in the shadows of night. 
Thoughts of the search he must set out upon at the 



90 


North to Nome 


end of this trip started to creep into his mind, but 
he would not think of such things now. Not for an¬ 
other day, when he would reach Juneau and it would 
be time to do instead of plan. Between now and 
then lay Wrangell, the next port of call. 

Once in the very early morning Dan awakened 
and heard a familiar swishing sound. He knew that 
meant that the ship was in the Narrows, gliding past 
the white buoys that warn of dangerous shallows. 
Later when the ship was tied securely at the dock, 
Dan mingled with the other passengers and walked 
out on the pier, bent upon a short sight-seeing trip 
of Wrangell. 

The sun was hot, as in California in the summer¬ 
time. One stout tourist puffed and mopped his 
perspiring brow, grumbling all the while at the friend 
at home who had advised woolen underwear for this 
northern trip. Watching him, Dan wondered why 
people do not learn the truth about the Alaskan 
climate; why they insist on believing that it is always 
cold there. He remembered the year spent in the 
Middle West when he was ten. He was glad that 
year to go back to Juneau to get warm. 

Dan left the group of tourists and went off by 
himself. Many times he and his father had been to 
Wrangell, and today he wanted to do something 
that they had often enjoyed together—^to climb to 




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Daniel Michael McCarthy 


93 


the highest point in Wrangell Park and look down 
upon the city. 

As he climbed uphill to the park, Dan recalled the 
history that his father had taught him of the place. 
He remembered that both the island and the town 
had been named after Baron Wrangell, who had been 
the Russian governor of Alaska away back in 1834. 
At that time the Stikine Indians had held the place. 
And here they stayed for a hundred years after the 
first white man set his foot upon the island. In fact, 
there were some still in their village on the edge of 
town. If he had time, he would go there to see old 
Indian Susie, who sold tourists wide silver bracelets 
and tiny totem poles. Her husband Tom would be 
at home with her if he were not working at his 
fishing. 

'Tish and fur and timber,**’ Dan recited softly, 
“these are the industries that keep people busy here 
at Wrangell.’** 

It did not take Dan long to reach the park upon 
the hill. For a time he walked among the great flower 
beds and admired the beautiful dahlia blooms as large 
as dinner plates. Then he climbed to its wooded sum- 
mit and looked down upon the bay, blue and spark¬ 
ling like the sapphire in his mother’s ring. He could 
see the curved shoreline, and each white frame house 
that crowded the flat land along the water. He could 



94 


North to Nome 


even see the pretty flower gardens that were the 
pride of each owner’s heart. Dan looked until he 
was content; then he went back to town to peep into 
the shops that lined the streets of Wrangell. 

In an Indian store he stood back in a comer and 
watched the tourists who came in to buy Alaskan 
curios. At a side counter a dark-haired girl with 
bright brown eyes was examining a pendant carved 
from rare old ivory. 

“Harry,” she exclaimed, turning to a gray-eyed 
boy, “this piece is cream and gold and brown. Why, 
it is beautiful!” 

“It is very rare,” the Indian salesman assured her. 
“It comes from far away.” 

Dan would have liked to tell her the whole story: 
that this precious ivory comes from the shores of the 
Bering Sea, where it has been buried for thousands 
of years; that once it was the tusk of a walms or a 
mastodon; that now it is hunted by Eskimos, who 
sell it to traders to be made up into curios for the 
summer trade. 

Even as he was thinking this, the words of the 
dark-haired girl carried clearly. “Oh, Aunt Lou, 
thank you, thank you for buying me this beautiful 
pendant!” 

Quietly Dan slipped out upon the sidewalk. He 
was glad to see this girl appreciate her Alaskan gift. 



Daniel Michael McCarthy 


95 


As for him, it was about time to return to the ship 
again. 

Not long afterward all the passengers had returned 
to the ship and were again lounging in deck chairs 
or leaning over the deck rail, eyeing the wonders of 
the land on either side of them. Helen and Harry 
were among them. 

“Harry, I think that’s a bear there. Look, on those 
rocks. Here, take my binoculars and see for youn 
self.” 

“I’m sure bears can’t live on bare rocks. Let’s see. 
Yes, there is an animal over there, but I think 
nothing but a goat could climb those sharp cliffs.” 

Just then Dan came along and abruptly joined in 
their conversation. “It is a goat—a mountain goat. 
They can easily scramble over the biggest and rough¬ 
est boulders on mountains, and they thrive on the 
scant moss that grows in cracks and crannies of even 
almost perpendicular cliffs.” 

“You were right, Harry,” admitted Helen. “I 
think I’ll leave you two to each other’s company 
and go along and find Aunt Lou now. G’bye.” 

Harry dismissed his sister with a wave of his hand 
and turned eagerly to Dan. There was an Miked- 
you-at-once feeling between these two. 

“I saw you for a moment in the curio store in 
Wrangell; but we don’t see very much of you on 



96 


North to Nome 


the ship. My name is Harry Turner. What's yours?’' 

“Daniel Michael McCarthy." 

“My Aunt Lou is giving my sister Helen and me 
this trip to Alaska for a birthday present, and we 
think it's about the greatest thing that could ever 
happen. You live in Alaska, don't you?" 

“Live in Alaska?" Dan's eyes grew serious as 
though the idea had never before occurred to him. 
“Why, I don't know. Once I did live in Alaska, and 
once I did live in the United States. Now I'm going 
to Alaska, but I don't know where I'm going to live 
permanently. I like Alaska—I certainly think it's 
the Great Country—and I'd like to live there at 
least most of the time." 

“Oh?" Harry's curiosity was thoroughly aroused, 
and he encouraged Dan to keep on talking. 

But Dan wasn't noticing Harry very much just 
then. Instead he was feeling that this boy would 
make a real friend. 

“I'm not really on a trip," Dan talked on, his eyes 
fixed vacantly on the mountaindined shore. “I'm on 
a search. Early this year my father left my mother 
and me in the States while he went to the interior 
of Alaska to stake a claim to a mine. Mother and I 
knew he'd strike a rich one, for my dad is smart! 
But then Mother suddenly grew sick, and died. I 
wrote letter after letter to Dad, but never got an 



Daniel Michael McCarthy 


97 


answer. That’s because he’s probably moving around 
all the time or is in some far-off place up north where 
there is no regular mail, and he most likely has never 
received my letters. Anyway, I was all alone down 
there, and I finally convinced the few friends we 
had that I could find my dad if I came up here. So 
here I am. You haven’t seen me on the boat much 
because I have been busy making plans. I’m getting 
off the boat at Juneau, and I’m going to work for 
my board and room with the Davises, some old 
friends of ours there. I have only ten dollars left.” 
Dan smiled, dug deep into his pocket, and displayed 
a crumpled bill. 

''Oh, I’m sorry,” said Harry, full of admiration for 
this other boy who was carrying such a heavy re¬ 
sponsibility. "Come on, let’s tell Aunt Lou about 
you. I’ll bet she can help. She knows lots of people 
in Alaska and is going to all sorts of places.” 

Helen had stopped off on the way to find her aunt 
long enough to play a few games of shuffieboard. 
When she did find her, Lou Turner was sitting alone 
in a sunny comer up on A Deck. A notebook lay 
open in her lap. Since luncheon she had been trying 
to put the grand Alaskan scenery down on paper. 
The craggy, snow-capped mountains, rising right up 
out of the still small bays, defied her powers of de¬ 
scription. The ship broke up the shadows of grim 



98 


North to Nome 


bare peaks reflected on the green water. White 
waterfalls tumbled in wild cascades down the sides 
of a high, lonely mountain. She searched her mind 
for short, sharp words that would express the cold 
beauty of the steep mountainsides; she sought long, 
soft-sounding words for the winding fiords. It 
seemed as if there were no words big enough to hold 
all the shining splendor in Alaska. 

Helen came running up to her. "'Do you know,’’ 
she cried, "do you know we are running into ice¬ 
bergs? Soon we shall be entirely surrounded by 
them!” 

Do2;ens of white ice cubes, each one as big as a 
bungalow, were floating about the bow of the ship. 

"Can they hurt us?” she continued as the ship 
made a path between two bergs. 

"They are not likely to do real damage, for these 
ships are built to withstand them,” explained her 
aunt. "However, it is really only one-tenth of the 
iceberg that we see above water. The other nine- 
tenths lies hidden beneath the surface.” 

"How cold the wind is! But—but—Aunt Lou, 
what is that shining peak over to the northeast? See, 
when the sun touches it, it glistens like the princess’ 
palace in a fairy tale.” 

"No doubt it is a glacier perched high up on the 
cliffs. You will see many more of them.” 




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Daniel Michael McCarthy 


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''It is so beautiful it makes me wish I were a great 
artist so that I could paint it. Then everyone down 
south could see the glacier and admire it as I do.’’ 

"Here comes your brother. He is certainly very 
excited over something. Isn’t that the Alaskan boy 
with him?” 

Harry’s eyes were bright, but it was Dan and not 
the icebergs that concerned him. Soon Dan had re- 
peated his story to Aunt Lou, and the four of them 
went deep in thought to find if there was any way 
in which they might be able to help locate Mr. 
McCarthy. Aunt Lou turned over a page in her 
notebook and wrote down all that Dan knew of his 
father’s plans and associates. It was decided that she 
would ask, wherever she went, if such a person was 
known there. Dan was grateful. He felt that at last 
his search was really started. 

Taku Inlet came with the dessert at dinner, but it 
was a simple matter to snatch pie or pudding and 
run out on deck to finish the meal under the high, 
the shining Taku Glacier. 

"Why, it is blue, blue-white like a perfect dia- 
mond! ” cried Helen in surprise. 

"A pretty big diamond, I would say. I read today 
that it is over a mile long and three hundred feet 
high,” her aunt replied. 

"See, it sparkles, just as if it had life in it.” 



102 


North to Nome 


''It is alive/’ volunteered a gray-haired gentleman, 
a famous scientist who spent all his summers study¬ 
ing natural wonders. "A glacier is really a river of 
ice. This one extends far back into the interior, 
nobody knows just where. As it flows forward a 
few feet each year, pieces of ice drop off. Listen!” 

The ship’s whistle let out a deep, long blast. The 
vibration shook a hundred sharp points of the blue 
ice. One rough chunk tumbled on the brink of the 
white wall, tottered, and crashed into the sea. An¬ 
other iceberg had been born before the eyes of the 
astonished passengers. 

"Do all glaciers act this way?” questioned Harry. 

"Only the live ones,” answered the man of science. 
"The dead ones are gray in color and do not move. 
Sometimes they are dull and dirty-looking because 
they collect all kinds of debris during many hun¬ 
dred years. They do this because they cannot throw 
off all the waste matter into the sea.” 

"See, there go some geese, flying high above the 
ice,” cried Helen. 

"Well, the glacier is true to its name.” 

"Why, what do you mean by that?” 

"In the Indian language Taku means Place Where 
the Geese Sit Down.” 

"I should think they would find that ice makes a 
pretty cold seat,” remarked Harry. 



Daniel Michael McCarthy 


103 


“Outside Juneau,” said the scientist, “there is a 
glacier called the Mendenhall. It is not living, like 
this one, and you can walk right out on it.” 

“Mm-m, rd like to do that some day!” Harry de- 
dared. “That kind of hike would be grand.” 

Early the next morning the ship swung into the 
Gastineau Channel, just escaping an evergreen island. 
Soon everyone on board saw the little capital cling- 
ing to the narrow strip of land between Mt. Juneau 
and the slender channel. On the low land along the 
Inland Sea not a foot of ground is wasted. Business 
houses set upon their foundations of high wooden 
stilts struggle for a footing in the water, while homes 
and stores and curio shops cling to the steep hillside. 

“Three cheers for Juneau!” shouted Harry at the 
rail. “Fm sure sorry we must take the very next 
boat away from here! And it leaves in an hour.” 

“That is the only way we can get over to Sitka 
now,” said his aunt, “and you know well that 
Sitka was the first capital of the territory. You will 
love the old town. We’ll return to Juneau.” 

Dan’s face was grave when he said good-bye to 
the Turners. Polite little speeches were not his 
specialty, but a hearty thank you was in his heart 
when, from the Juneau pier, he waved his cap and 
shouted: 

“I hope to be seeing you soon!” 



Chapter VII 
SITKA 

The ship’s clock chimed out six bells or 3:00 a.m. 
while the sun rose over Sitka. Both Turners scur- 
ried up on deck to watch the historic port appear. 
In the misty morning light Mt. Edgecumbe seemed 
to rise right out of the still water. 

''Why, that mountain looks like the picture post 
cards of Fujiyama in Japan,” said Helen, pointing to 
the flat-topped peak ahead. "How beautiful it is 
with snow running down its sides, like hard sauce 
on a plum pudding.” 

"You think too much of how beautiful everything 
is. We ought to have all sorts of adventures here.” 

"Well, we won’t have time to do much exploring. 
The ship that takes us back to Juneau leaves before 
noon today. However, in this fine weather we ought 
to be able to get around to most of the important 
places before she sails. Wonder why it isn’t cold 
at this early hour.” 


104 


Sitka 


105 


'Tor one thing, the sun is coming up. And . . oh, 
yes. Now I do remember. Dan McCarthy told me 
that the Japan current sweeps past the coast of 
southern Alaska, warming it just as the Gulf Stream 
warms England.’’ 

"Oh,” replied Helen, looking around as if she ex¬ 
pected to see the current. "Now we’d better remem¬ 
ber to go below and see if breakfast is being served.” 

After breakfast a hundred eager sight-seers rushed 
down the gangplank that they might cram half of 
Sitka’s glory and all of her romance into their few 
short hours ashore. 

The pier was bustling with business. Cans of 
crab, of halibut, and of salmon were swinging over 
the rail of the ship, sinking into its big black holds. 
Mail sacks just being unloaded were tossed upon a 
truck and rushed through the crowd to bring to the 
waiting northerners their weekly treat of outside 
news. 

This steamer day in Sitka was almost as gay as a 
carnival. Bands of children, freed from tiresome 
tasks, ran down to the wharf to celebrate the arrival 
of the ship. Their parents, too, found time to come 
to peep at the latest tourist fashions or to greet an 
old friend from back in the States. 

In due time the Turners arrived at the Governor’s 
Walk, the main street of the town. However, they 



io6 


North to Nome 


could make no progress along it on this bright mom" 
ing, for Helen and Harry would see nothing but 
the quaint summer Market of the Thlinkits. Tiny 
tents, open in front, lined the Marine Parade Ground. 
Colorful blankets and miniature totems were ranged 
along the counters under the protection of brown" 
skinned women, who paid little attention to the tour" 
ists’ bargainings. Their round faces were bright, their 
black eyes alight with life only when they answered 
the friendly greeting of a Thlinkit neighbor. It 
seemed as though these women were ever conscious 
of the cannon on the green parade ground behind 
them—the cannon that the Russian leaders used to 
conquer Alaska for the white man. 

Each twin remembered something of the city's 
history. 

“I have read,” said Helen, "'’that Sitka was the capi" 
tal of Alaska, even when it was under Russian rule.” 

‘’"When and by whom was Alaska discovered?” 
Aunt Lou sounded just like a school teacher when 
she asked such quick questions. 

""Why — why — I suppose a Russian found the 
Great Country,” volunteered Harry. 

""Now Fm coming up to the head of the class,” 
teased Helen. ""Vitus Bering, a Dane in the service 
of the Czar of Russia, discovered Alaska in 1741.” 

""You sound just like a school book,” complained 

































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Sitka 


109 


Harry. “I don't like you that way. Let’s see what 
the town looks like today.” 

They found Sitka well modemiz^ed by tall wireless 
towers, a theater, some shops selling both curios and 
necessities, and substantial white frame houses. Harry 
was making a mental note of these signs of civilizia" 
tion when his aunt’s voice interrupted. 

'1 do believe Sitka is the Boston of Alaska,” she 
said. 

''Boston? Why, do the people here like baked 
beans and brown bread?” questioned Helen. 

"Perhaps they do. But that is not why Sitka re- 
minds me of Boston. Rather, it is because the little 
city is crammed so full of stirring history. Near here 
white men subdued the Thlinkits; over there the 
Russion flag was hauled down, and the American 
flag was hoisted that signaled our possession of all 
Alaska.” 

"Oh, show us the place, please!” 

The trio hastened to the white marble shaft that 
marks the site of Baranof’s castle. Lou Turner ex- 
plained: 

"The eighteenth of October, 1867, must have 
been a sad day for the Russians of all Sitka. They 
had settled this new country; they had struggled 
to preserve their homes against the violence of the 
fierce Thlinkit tribes. And, then, because the C 2 ;ar 



no 


North to Nome 


of Russia, thousands of miles away, had given the 
word, they were forced to become citi2;ens of a for- 
eign land/’ 

“I would always call myself an American, no mat' 
ter who bought my country,” declared Harry with 
spirit. 

“Perhaps many of these people did remain loyal 
to Russia, for in spite of a foolish ruler who sold 
them to gain money for his court, they were still 
Russian in language and customs. They suffered, too, 
for when Sitka was made the capital of Alaska, 
Americans came here to govern the country. These 
new people were kind, but they did not understand 
the gay Russians. Life became a serious business. 
During Russian rule there had been balls and din' 
ners and beautiful women with gorgeous gowns.” 

“How romantic,” murmured Helen. 

“Today there is a Wishing Stone, where one may 
make a wish that all his hopes will soon come true.” 

“Let’s go!” 

“We have just a half hour to make the ship,” 
warned Harry. 

“Half an hour! Oh, goodness me,” wailed Helen. 
“Why, we have just come!” 

“So we have,” agreed her aunt. “I know what we 
will do!” Her voice was eager as a girl’s. 

“What?” Both twins spoke at once. 



Sitka 


III 


“Let's wait for the next steamer!" 

They hailed this decision with noisy approval out 
in the middle of the main street of Sitka. Then the 
three of them rushed pelhmell down to the pier to 
recover the luggage stowed away in their cabins. 

They found a fine hotel that looked like a private 
mansion. But that night they could scarcely settle 
down to sleep, so full were their heads of the tales 
of Indians and of Russian splendor which Aunt Lou 
had regaled them with. 

When the bells from St. Michael's Cathedral wat 
ened them next morning, the children were eager to 
be off to explore this church that is a treasure house 
of precious gold and silver ornaments. But Aunt Lou 
advised a walk out in the sunshine. 

“For," she said, “there will be much spare time 
on rainy days when woods and ferns will be dripping 
with raindrops." 

“Rain, here? Why, the sun shone half of last 
night I" Helen could scarcely believe such a predic¬ 
tion. 

“Sitka is probably the rainiest spot in all Alaska.” 

Harry and Helen yielded to their aunt's decision 
and were rewarded with a delightful day spent out¬ 
doors amid the greenery of Lover's Lane. Lover's 
Lane, they found, is part of a great fifty-seven acre 
park called the Sitka National Monument. It is a 



II 2 


North to Nome 


beautiful tree-lined path, along which are totem poles 
at regular intervals. Helen astonished Harry by the 
ease with which she read the stories on each of 

them. 

“I learned about totem poles in Ketchikan while 
you were off with Little Raven,’' explained Helen, 
feeling that at last her experiences were balancing 
some of Harry’s brave adventures. 

They enjoyed a long, happy day; yet at 10:00 p.m. 
the sun was still shining down on Sitka. How can 
fifteen-yeanolds slumber when even the birds twitter 
and peep at night? Harry closed his eyes, imitating 
sleep. But it was a useless gesture; they popped open 
again. There was something beautiful yet haunting 
about this queer halfdight that roused him, drew him 
over to the open window. He remembered that 
eclipse of the sun last year when, through pieces of 
smoked glass, all his class had watched the moon’s 
shadow grow and grow until it covered all but a tiny 
slice of sun. A queer light had fallen on the earth 

then, causing familiar objects to appear unreal. So 
it was now, two hours before midnight, up in Sitka. 

Only halLawake, he recalled Aunt Lou’s word^ 
picture the preceding day of a deserted log mansion 
up on the hill. In the ghostly light its image seemed 
to rise before him until each detail became cleancut, 
vivid. According to local legend this log house was 






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Sitka 


111 

haunted—haunted by a lovely woman. Of course, 
Harry, a big boy nearly sixteen, did not really be- 
lieve in ghosts, but—^well, there might be just a grain 
of truth in the tale anyway. More likely this ghost 
was just a bush that swayed in the wind, or perhaps 
it was someone with a sheet, playing practical jokes 
to frighten superstitious people. He felt brave, in 
his cheerful room above the harbor. 

Fully awake now, the thought of having an adven¬ 
ture tempted him to pull his clothes on once again. 
He would at least go for a short walk in this day¬ 
light at night in Sitka. 

In the hallway he nearly collided with his sister, 
who was watching the midnight sun cast long 
shadows on the inlet. 

“She would be here,” Harry thought, “just when 
Fm off on a lark.” 

“Helen, why aren’t you in bed?” he asked, trying 
to be severe. 

“Because Fm going up to the haunted house. I 
want to see the Lady in White, who still waits for 
her sweetheart. I just thought of doing that. Want 
to come with me?” 

Harry was surprised at his sister’s making that 
particular suggestion, but if she wanted to, he cer¬ 
tainly would. 

In two minutes they were off, headed for the 



ii6 


North to Nome 


hills. Helen was in a gay mood tonight, almost a 
reckless mood, leading her brother up the winding 
trail. Heedless, enjoying to the utmost the adven¬ 
ture of the moment, the two laughed and joked as 
they climbed the hill. Soon they came upon an old 
Russian blockhouse, partly hidden in a growth of 
ferns and bushes. 

“Harry, this must be the blockhouse Aunt Lou 
told us about.” 

“Yes,” replied Harry, “but we'd better be on our 
way, for what if Aunt Lou should find both of us 
gone? We should have told her before we left. I 
didn't think—but we won't be gone long. Aren't 
we lucky to have an aunt who knows about all these 
things?” 

The story of that first Sitka settlement became a 
vivid fact in the presence of the blockhouse where 
once a whole colony of Russians had been mur¬ 
dered by Indians. Now, in the silent twilight hour, 
it was easy for the boy and his sister to picture the 
Thlinkit horde that swooped down on Fort Arch¬ 
angel one holiday in 1802 while Baranof, then gov¬ 
ernor of Alaska, was away at Kodiak. They imagined 
they heard the wild whoops of the savages, who 
hurled their red- and yellow-painted bodies against 
the weakening fort. They could almost smell the 
smoke of Indian campfires, feel the agony of that 



Sitka 


111 

handful of Russian men and women who must 
choose between an instant, horrible death by fire and 
a lingering death by torture. There had been no 
chance at all to escape that yelling, mad mob of red 
men. Every man and woman, every child in the old 
settlement, was murdered on that fearful night. 
Blood and slaughter were their reward for living with 
high courage. So Sitka fell while Baranof was hunt- 
ing seals in Kodiak, many hundreds of miles away. 

Two years passed before the Governor could fuh 
fill his promise to restore the settlement. After his 
return to the capital more brave men and women 
made the dreadful journey from the homeland across 
Siberia that they might coloni2;e this north country 
in the name of Russia. 

"'Just think,'" commented Helen as she and her 
brother walked on more slowly, "the Thlinkits did it. 
The great-grandfathers of Little Raven and Sparkling 
Water must have been enemies of the white people." 

Harry shuddered. "Tm glad everything is different 
now, that there is peace with the Indians." 

Pondering this thought, Helen lagged behind her 
brother. As they walked along, the trail grew nar¬ 
row, the dusk deepened. Birds stopped singing, and 
bats came out to make the most of the short sum¬ 
mer darkness. Harry, thinking his sister had lost her 
nerve, began to tease her. 



ii8 


North to Nome 


'Til show who’s afraid. Let’s take a short cut,” 
she challenged and turned heedlessly into the thick 
alders that edged the path. 

Harry followed, laughing gaily. Spruce and hem- 
locks hemmed them in and met overhead, hiding 
every stray ray of feeble light. It was, just then, the 
darkest spot in all Alaska. A twig cracked, and 
Helen’s first thought was that the noise was caused 
by the footsteps of the Lady in White, approaching. 

Harry was more reasonable. "Probably a bat,” he 
assured his sister. 

Doubtful, Helen was thrilled and chilled by the 
memory of the romantic story of the Lady in White. 
This beautiful girl had cared greatly for a handsome 
young man who returned her affection, but who 
found it necessary to sail off on a mysterious voyage 
far across the sea. She waited faithfully, but her 
lover never returned. Eventually, when her father 
forced her to marry a Russian officer in high com- 
mand, she stabbed herself with a dagger. Rather 
would this lovely girl die than betray the memory of 
her lover. For many years, some people said, her 
ghost returned to the grim old castle where she died, 
that she might still watch and wait for her sweet- 
heart. 

Harry didn’t think much of the love story, but 
Helen was thrilled. She was certain that every tree 



trunk hid the form of the young bride. Harry hoped 
that if the ghost was going to walk tonight, she 
would do it soon. He did want to see a ghost or 
prove forever that there wasn’t any such thing. 

Suddenly bare white arms stood raised in protest 
at their passing. A do 2 ;en ghostly figures blocked 
their path. Behind them the tangled mass of bush 
and vines grew thick. Ahead—Helen shut her eyes. 
She could not face those weird white forms again. 
Harry was silent. This wooden spot was suddenly 
blanketed with a heavy, gray dampness. 

''Don’t—don’t you think it’s going to rain?” 
Helen did not recogni2;e her own voice. It sounded 
shaky. 

If Harry was frightened, he did not show it. He 
answered firmly, "Who cares if it does rain? Let’s 
go over and investigate those ghosts! ” 

What can a girl do with a brother like that? Be- 
sides, wasn’t she the one who had suggested this 
trip? Gathering her courage, she followed closely 
behind him. 

"Well, our ghosts don’t move.” Harry almost bit 
his tongue as he tripped over the exposed roots of an 
alder tree. He stood still before he spoke again. 

"Do you see what I see?” 

"What do you see? Is it—^is it—?” Helen did 
not finish her question. 



120 


North to Nome 


“It is a cemetery, the old Russian cemetery, I 
suppose. Miss Turner,” turning to his sister, “may 
I present you to our ghosts, the Russian crosses?” 

No answer. 

“Come on, let’s go down there and see them.” 

Helen had no choice. “All right,” she agreed, 
trying to hold both her legs and her voice steady. 

Harry used three matches, trying to read the long 
Russian names upon the tombstones while Helen 
wondered if the Lady in White were buried here 
alone, without her lover. As they poked about the 
moist earth, heaped with leaves and twigs and bits 
of wood, there was a rush of wind that whistled 
across the hollow. Then the threatening rain did 
come, and Helen was able to scramble toward the 
path without shame at her haste in leaving this 
spooky spot. 

The town lay dim and dripping below them. It 
did not take the Turners long to get there. Drenched 
and shivering, they tiptoed into the hotel, but no 
one even guessed at their experience. 

The next morning the rain still swept over the 
old, old town. A strange rain, reflected the twins 
who were used to the fog-mixed, misty rains of the 
Pacific Coast. Here the drops were so clear that 
they could see through them. On a day like this 
the twins could find each tiny island in the bay. 




Canadian National Railways 


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Sitka 


123 


After breakfast their aunt was eager to explore 
St. MichaeFs Cathedral. "'‘J^st the day for it,’’ she 
declared, “for out-ohdoors the trees and paths are 
dripping.” 

The great blue dome and tapering spire of the 
Cathedral of St. Michael the Archangel were like old 
friends this morning, giving shelter to those who 
sought protection from the rain. The young Turners 
scrambled noisily into the entry, but were soon 
hushed by the atmosphere of sacred splendor that 
greeted them upon the threshold of this old church. 

Within, there was no sign of seats or pews. A 
circle of great pillars supports the dome that covers 
all three altars of the church. From the ceiling hang 
handsome brass and silver chandeliers in which flick¬ 
er the flames of five hundred tapers that cast a mel¬ 
low glow into the dim recesses of the solemn 
cathedral. 

An old priest appeared to serve as a guide through 
this veritable museum of interesting pictures and 
jewels. He led the Turners past images of the saints 
robed in beaten gold and silver garments that made 
the beauty-loving Helen catch her breath in admira¬ 
tion. They saw jewels enough to make any young 
girl sigh with the desire to see them sparkle against 
her own white skin—diamonds, pearls, sapphires. 

Then the old priest moved past an altar on each 



124 


North to Nome 


side of which were massive silver candlesticks. In 
them were great candles, which would bum during 
services today exactly as did great candles brought 
from Russia in the days of Baranof. The old man 
stopped to show a beautifully jeweled cross. Then 
he led the Turners to two old and priceless paintings, 
which, like the other furnishings of the cathedral, 
had been brought from Russia many, many years 
ago. One painting in particular of a madonna and 
child, was magnificently encmsted in silver and gold 
and was referred to as the Lady of Ka 2 ;an. 

With tender touch Lou Turner and her niece 
traced the gold and silver pattern on the richly bro" 
caded vestment which the priest would wear only at 
the elaborate Easter service. It was a gorgeous thing, 
studded with jewels and embellished with glittering 
braid. Baranof had had it made in Russia. 

Out in the open again Helen could find no words 
to express even a part of her appreciation of all the 
beauty she had seen in this splendid church. Harry, 
however, seemed oddly lacking in enthusiasm. 

"1 hope all that rich stuff gave the poor Russians 
some comfort. They certainly needed it, with all 
those bloodthirsty Thlinkits around town.’’ 

"'Sometimes,” replied Helen, "even my own twin 
has no appreciation of art.” 



Chapter VIII 
ROUGH ICE 

Back in Juneau a few days later Harry Turner sat 
down upon the steps of Alaska’s Capitol that he 
might give all of his attention to the important mat" 
ter of high tea. He wished that the Alaskans would 
show less hospitality, for he shied at grown-up ah 
fairs and proper party clothes. Why must he go to 
tea when outdoors there were exciting paths and 
streams? But a familiar figure was walking toward 
him! 

''Hi, Harry, what are you doing there, moping on 
the steps?” 

"Dan! Em sure glad to see you! We just got back 
from Sitka. Where do you live here?” 

"A few miles down the highway. Say, don’t you 
want to come along with me?” 

"Of course! I’d like that fine. Aunt Lou is busy 
today; so Helen and I are on our own until late 
afternoon. I didn’t even know there was a real high" 
way near Juneau. Which way do we go?” 


125 


126 


North to Nome 


“Right up this street to the edge of town, where 
I left my bike. Then we'll hit the Glacier Highway. 
That leads up past Auk Lake, where the farm is." 

“Farm? Do you have real farms up here?" 

“Of course we do! You should see the fine herd 
of cows Mr. Davis has I" 

Two boys on one bicycle do not make for a speedy 
ride. However, the graded gravel road was free from 
chuckholes; so within a quarter hour the young 
cyclists had left Juneau well behind them. 

Dan was eager to have Harry think well of his 
native city. With much satisfaction he told him of 
the time, away back in 1906, when ambitious 
Juneau people got busy and, before Sitkans reali 2 ;ed 
what was happening, moved the capital north to 
their own town. 

“We are really more Alaskan than those Sitkans." 
Dan nodded gravely. “Too many of them tell of the 
days when their grandmothers danced at the fancy 
Russian balls. Besides, Juneau is more centrally lo- 
cated, and so represents Alaska better." 

Harry thought, “How like a booster!" Aloud he 
said, “Well, I don't blame you for being proud of 
your territory, for Alaska does get hold of you in a 
short time. I'm strong for it now." 

“Wait until you see more of it," predicted Dan. 
“How I wish I could stay right here!" 



Rough Ice 


127 


''Maybe you will be able to/’ encouraged Harry, 
whose thoughts turned to Dan’s problem. "Have 
you by any chance learned anything of your father 
yet?” 

There was misery in Dan’s blue eyes. "No, 
nothing definite. He struck out north late this spring 
—up to Dawson, Aunt Tilly Davis thinks. I’m go- 
ing up there somehow and see what I can learn.” 

At a gradual upgrade climb the boys got off the 
bicycle and walked. Harry was glad to hike through 
this very beautiful country. Forests of fir and spruce 
stretched out for miles on both sides of the road. 
Between the trees ferns grew in a tall, thick tangle. 
Salmonberries shone pink and red through the under¬ 
growth. The boys needed no invitation to pick and 
eat the small fruit. 

"Must be fine hunting here,” remarked Harry. 

"And fishing. These streams fairly jump with fish. 
Their meat is sweet and firm up here in these cold 
waters. The creeks come down from the glaciers, 
you know. That’s why the water is such a bright 
green color.” 

One more turn, then Harry saw a whole lakeful 
of sparkling water that was the color of his mother’s 
emerald brooch. Beyond the lake rose a glistening 
mass of crystal flanked by towering mountaintops. 
The scene was wild and beautiful. He thought of 



128 


North to Nome 


his sister, who was always pleased by such rugged 
natural scenery. 

'1 sure wish Helen was along,’’ he said aloud. 
''How she would love this lake banked by crags and 
pinnacles and glaciers.” 

"We don’t want a girl with us today.” 

"Why not? My twin is mighty fine company. 
She’s not afraid of bugs or caterpillars or ghosts.” 

"Well, then, probably she would do for this part 
of the trip.” 

"Of course, she would.” Harry was loyal to his 
sister. 

"But I have thought of a grand plan for today, one 
that no girl would like.” 

"Maybe I won’t like it either.” 

"Oh, yes, you will,” predicted Dan. "I am going 
to show you the top of the Mendenhall Glacier.” 

"How can you do that unless we climb up on it?” 

"That is just what we are going to do, part way 
at least. See that rocky place to the right? We’ll go 
right over it to the ice.” 

"When do we start?” Harry was thrilled at the 
very thought of such an experience. 

"Almost immediately. All we have to do is stop 
in for a minute at the Davis place, where I stay. 
Perhaps Aunt Tilly will give us some sandwiches to 
take along.” 



Rough Ice 


129 


“Is she really your aunt?’' questioned Harry. 

“N-no, not really. When we lived in Juneau, when 
I was a kid, she lived down in town, too. She often 
looked after me. I guess I know her next best to my 
own folks.” 

The Davis farm was situated on a little piece of 
valley land near the banks of Auk Lake. The family 
kept cows and chickens and raised beautiful carrots. 
Never before had Harry seen such big yellow cap 
rots. How could they grow so fine during the short 
spring? 

Mrs. Davis explained that vegetables grow twice 
as fast in Alaska in the summertime as they do in the 
States because they get nearly twice as much sun¬ 
light during the long, twenty-hour day. 

“Up here chickens can lay two eggs a day,” vol¬ 
unteered Dan proudly. “They don’t want to go to 
sleep any more than we humans do while the sun 
is shining.” 

“How do they act in winter, when the sun shines 
hardly at all?” 

“Unfortunately, they do not want to lay then. 
And I don’t blame them, when it is so dark. I fooled 
mine a few years ago and put electric lights in the 
henhouses: They thought the sun was out,” 
chuckled Aunt Tilly. “They did their duty then. 
With fresh eggs fetching a high price, the lights 



130 


North to Nome 


soon paid for themselves. Aren't you boys hungry? 
Come, taste some real Alaskan milk." 

The rich milk was a credit to the cows. Harry 
drank a pint of it with relish. Scarcely had he fin¬ 
ished when Dan appeared with bulging pockets. 

''Sandwiches for the hike," he explained. 

"It won't take so very long, will it?" Harry's 
voice sounded anxious, for suddenly he had thought 
of the tea party. 

"You say that the tea is not until five? You will 
surely be back long before that time," said Mrs. 
Davis. 

"I'll lend you my bike to ride back to town," 
promised Dan. 

"Thanks. Let's go then; I'm ready." 

Chattering like old friends, the boys walked up 
the highway toward that challenging pile of ice and 
fro 2 ;en snow which all the world calls the Menden¬ 
hall Glacier. Little hills covered with trees rose in 
the foreground, shutting off their view of the great 
ice wall. A cold wind, like a breath from the North 
Pole, cut through the sunshine, leaving them thor¬ 
oughly chilled. Once they stood among colorful 
wildflowers, facing a foaming river that had its source 
within a great bluish-purple cave in the side of the 
glacier. 

The fine road ended at a rickety wooden bridge 












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Rough Ice 


133 


that spanned a seething stream. A narrow path, 
strewn with smooth loose rocks that slipped and 
slid with every step, led them on and up toward the 
Mendenhall. Carefully the two boys clambered up 
the trail. From one spot they could see a lovely 
little pool formed from snow that had melted in a 
rocky basin. 

After a time there was no longer any sign of life. 
Every green thing had disappeared as if some giant 
had shoved the glacier back beyond the forest and 
had forgotten to plant a tree or a shrub in the valley 
thus disclosed. That is exactly what did happen 
many thousand years ago, and Nature was the giant 
who pushed the glacier back into the gorge. Even 
now this wall of ice is melting more each year, leav" 
ing in front of it a valley of stones that will not grow 
any plant. 

Harry and Dan did not know all the scientific 
explanations for the stony ground they trod, nor 
did they care that it is called a moraine^ but they 
were troubled by its roughness none the less. 

''We really ought to be wearing high shoes with 
cleats in them,'’ said Dan, examining the halfiwom 
sole of his left shoe. 

"How would a pair of football shoes do?” 

"Almost anything would be better than this out- 
fit.” 



134 


North to Nome 


The boys struggled on, lured by the da 2 ; 2 ;ling spec¬ 
tacle before them, urged into action by the prospect 
of climbing over a real glacier. 

Then, without warning they came upon a curious 
sight. Twisted trees of spruce and birch rose up 
before them. The trunks were gnarled and cracked 
and bent and splintered; the tops were gone, vic¬ 
tims of the glacier and storms. 

Scientists have studied this strange forest set up 
here amid the tongues of ice that dart down from 
the Mendenhall. Dan explained as best he could 
what he had heard of their discoveries. Geologists 
attributed these strange tree-forms to the remains 
of a forest existing before the glaciers were formed 
thousands of years ago. But a later study proved 
that once upon a time, before the present glaciers 
existed, a great ice sheet covered all the land, extend¬ 
ing far down to the waters of the Inside Passage. 
After many, many years the warm rains fell. Grad¬ 
ually the ice melted, and plant life flourished in the 
warm sunshine that followed the big rains. Shrubs 
and flowers covered the valley floor, and trees grew 
large and strong everywhere. 

Then, while plants were thriving in this north- 
land, the cold came creeping down again. It froze 
the water left by the rains into new ice. At first 
the trees stood their ground, for they were young 



Rough Ice 


135 


and strong, but after a time the mighty masses of 
powerful ice pushed all the plants and stones before 
them. This waste piled up, burying the tree roots, 
snapping off the tall trunks. The stumps that es¬ 
caped this wholesale destruction resembled ugly 
misshapen monsters. 

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years passed. 
The warm sun turned rivers of ice into busy streams 
that swept away some of the sticks and stones that 
had collected. Snow melted, uncovering deformed 
stumps that had once been tall green trees. 

These are the stumps which still stand as silent 
evidence of the plant life that flourished between 
two glacial periods. Dan was sure that was the rea¬ 
son scientists call these trees an interglacial forest. 
"'Because, you see, inter rntdcas between in Latin, and 
these trees grew tall and strong between the times 
that two glaciers covered them,’" he explained. 

Both boys looked with awe upon the corrugated 
wall of blue and white ice that lay before them. 
Neither could explain in scientific terms what was 
happening here, but they did reali2;e that a tremend¬ 
ous change was taking place. 

Silently they pushed their way across the valley of 
smooth stones and sharp rocks, circling boulders 
as big as bungalows. Gradually they began to climb, 
and their hearts beat hard from their struggle with 



136 


North to Nome 


the loose stones. Two steps forward, one step back. 
It required courage now to keep a straight course 
toward the glacier. Beads of perspiration stood out 
on their cheeks; yet they drew their coats tightly 
about their shoulders to keep warm against the wind. 
Another block of this, a hundred yards, ten feet. 
The boys stopped short. 

'Tve never been farther than this before,'’ Dan 
admitted to his chum. “Not many people ever do go 
very far up here, not even the Indians. They have 
a superstitious fear of spirits that they believe live 
back there. Perhaps they are right, for white men 
do not seem anxious to go to the end of the glacier 
to prove the Indians wrong." • 

“We will go at least a little way, though, won't 
we?" 

“Of course. Didn't I promise to bring you to the 
top?" 

Warmed by the climb, neither boy now felt the 
cold although splinters of ice crunched beneath his 
feet. Both were cheered by a flat, smooth strip that 
promised easy progress. 

Harry was first to reach the shining surface of 
the glacier. Two quick steps, one slip— He had 
no time to put a plump pillow between his trousers 
and the ice. He was up before Dan reached him, 
laughing at his own mishap. But Dan was sobered 



Rough Ice 


137 


by the accident, for he felt responsible for his friend’s 
safety. 

“Fve brought you up here where a slip or a fall 
is a dangerous thing. If anything should happen—” 

“I have learned my lesson now. You will see what 
a good pupil I am. Come on. Let’s go.” 

Once more they were off, careful now to keep 
their balance on the slippery surface. It was a job 
calling for their best efforts. Slowly they went for- 
ward and up on the field of ice, up toward the top 
of the Mendenhall. By noon tall pinnacles of ice 
blocked the path they had chosen. 

''Hummocks,” explained Dan. "It will be pretty 
hard to get through here.” 

The boys surveyed the sharp white barriers, seek" 
ing a passage between or around them. 

"We might climb a pinnacle,” suggested Dan. 
"Then we could see for miles and miles along the 
glacier.” 

"We can’t do that without an ax or something to 
chop steps in the ice.” Harry was practical even on 
a glacier. "Let’s try to find a way around. Perhaps 
on the other side of these the going will be easier. 
Anyway it will be fun to try.” 

After some scouting Dan found a narrow opening 
in the wilderness of ice hummocks. 

"Hooray, I have it!” 



North to Nome 


138 

“Have what?’’ asked Harry. 

“The answer to our problem. See? We can 
squee2;e right between these two ice babies.” 

Cautiously Dan crawled into the crack. He 
dropped down flat upon his stomach and wriggled 
into the slim opening. Gradually he eased his shouh 
ders through the narrow hole. Harry watched his 
friend’s body disappear between the shining pin¬ 
nacles. He waited, listening for some signal from 
him. None came. 

“Perhaps,” he thought, “I cannot hear his voice. 
I will start after him, without a sign.” 

Like Dan, Harry dropped to his stomach and 
wriggled into the opening. He found the wedge be¬ 
tween the ice walls very cold. He could feel moisture 
soaking through his coat. He crawled forward slow¬ 
ly. Instead of the passage being a very short one as 
he had supposed, he could not see its end; it was 
really only a big crack between two enormous blocks 
of ice, and curved in and out aimlessly until one 
bigger turn took it from sight. Harry hallooed for 
Dan. Still there was no answer. 

Harry flung his left arm out ahead of him as he 
did when swimming in the pool at home. Then inch 
by inch he pulled his weight forward, scattering 
loose gravel and pieces of ice with his feet. Wher¬ 
ever his head fitted, there he followed. 















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Rough Ice 


141 

Once he stopped to rest and get his breath. Be^ 
fore going on, he again shouted for Dan. No answer 
rewarded his shrill cries; so once more he crawled 
forward, this time a bit more soberly. At last he 
reached the big curve. 

A ray of sunshine straight ahead gave him new 
courage. That must be the end of this narrow pass- 
age. Out there in that patch of brightness he would 
find freedom and warmth and his Alaskan chum. 
Already he began to watch for a glimpse of his 
friend s red head. But the only red he saw came from 
a wound on his own hand. A sharp stone had done 
its work as well as any ra 2 ior. 

Once he imagined that he heard a voice, but when 
he reached the valley to which the path led, he 
could not s^e Dan. When he shouted for him, the 
whi 2 ; 2 ;ing wind carried his voice back toward the ice 
hummocks. Harry blinked at the white glare that 
almost blinded him. The chunky ice fields ahead 
gave no promise of companionship. The empty sh 
lence caused him to cry out sharply for his friend. 

Then Harry saw Dan, between two ice hills, calm- 
ly searching for signs of a trail. 

The light of adventure shone in Dan’s eyes. “Let’s 
go on along the glacier for a mile or so,” he suggested. 

“It must be long past lunch time,” hinted Harry, 
squinting at the sun now well past the meridian. 



142 


North to Nome 


“Guess you're right, but, boy, I hate to stop to 
eat. This is great!" 

Dan's enthusiasm warmed Harry somewhat, but 
he was still hungry. “We'll have that much less to 
pack if we eat now." 

“On the outside we'll have less, but since a couple 
of sandwiches will be inside us. I'm sure we'll not be 
much better off. But I'm willing." 

The two boys ate lunch, standing upon a deep 
Alaska glacier with the Alaskan summer sun shining 
down on their bare heads. Bright, high mountains 
bordered this vast river of ice. Harry had never 
dreamed that such a brilliant world existed. He 
was thrilled at the thought of standing on a glacier. 

For the first half hour after lunch the boys made 
slow progress. They slipped and slid and stumbled. 
Once they had to jump over a deep crack in the ice. 

“A crevasse," explained Dan, measuring the fissure 
with his eye. “However, this is only a baby one." 

“How far back does the Mendenhall go?" Harry 
wanted to knew. 

“Nobody knows exactly," answered Dan. “Some 
scientists believe it goes on and on until it meets the 
Taku Glacier." 

They went on, inching their way along the slip¬ 
pery ice. Suddenly Harry exclaimed, “Here's the 
grandfather!" 



Rough Ice 


143 


''Grandfather who?'' 

"Grandpa Crevasse, of course. Come on, let's get 
a good look at the old fellow." 

After a minute's cautious crawling over the glassy 
surface, the boys peered into the yawning depths of 
the deep split. Gloom buried the bottom of that 
awful crack in the ice. Harry dug deep down into 
his trouser pockets. From a tangle of twine he se- 
lected a blood-'red marble. With deliberate aim he 
dropped it into the crevasse. Silence followed. Neh 
ther of them could hear the marble touch bottom. 

"Gosh, let's get away from here. This place is 
more spooky than the Sitka cemetery at midnight." 

So, slowly, because their feet were numb with 
cold, the boys began to retrace their steps. When 
exercise had sent warm blood racing through their 
bodies, their talk was full of high hopes and ambh 
tions. 

"Some day," declared Harry, "I would like to be 
an explorer like Admiral Byrd or . . " But his remark 
was never completed, for with no warning the 
would-be explorer slipped and fell. As he slid to¬ 
ward an ice-cliff, Dan dashed forward, stretched out 
both hands to catch him. 



Chapter IX 

SUMMER DAYS IN JUNEAU 

When by one o'clock in the afternoon Harry had 
not returned to the hotel, his sister began to watch 
for him. Before he left her hours ago, he had talked 
of taking her on a hike up Mt. Juneau, that beauti- 
fully wooded mountain that stood guard behind the 
town. 

A quick, firm step upon the walk outside the hotel 
sitting room took her running to the window. Hope 
left her when a miner in flannel shirt and hip boots 
came swinging along the sidewalk. So she decided 
to finish a letter to the family. She read over what 
she had written: 

Dearest Family: 

The town of Juneau is pretty fine. It has no 
skyscrapers, like San Francisco, but the people are 
full of pep. They could tell you all about the mild 
climate and the prosperity of the place much better 
than I can. You will be surprised to hear that the 
people up here entertain often with teas and pan 


144 


Summer Days in Juneau 


145 


ties. Especially in the winter they enjoy gay social 
affairs. Perhaps that is because the nights are so 
long then. Aunt Lou is taking Harry and me to a 
tea this afternoon. 

How I wish that I could put all of Juneau down 
on paper for you! Some of the streets have planks 
for paving even though they run straight up the 
mountain. The business section is only four blocks 
wide, but it goes along the water for more than a 
mile. The sawmills and lumber yards are built on 
stilts above the water .of the bay, but the banks, 
high-class stores, and so forth are farther back on 
land. Most of the houses are made of wood. They 
are painted white and look pretty. They have only 
tiny gardens, though, because Juneau is partly 
hacked out of the rocks. 

The people here are very interesting. There are 
all kinds of them. Many wear very fashionable 
clothes; others are dressed in plain jeans. The ones 
in big boots are the best of all. They have come 
down from their claims in the interior to lay in 
provisions or spend a short vacation. 

Yesterday we walked on gold. It was just too 
bad for us, but we could not pick any of it up, for 
it was scattered in tiny grains, like sand, through¬ 
out the ground under our feet. That was at a mine. 
This mine is not at Juneau but out in the Gastineau 
Channel on an island by the name of Douglas. 

We three Turners climbed into a steel bucket. 
Even Harry held on tight to the rim when we shot 
down into darkness. It was a lot worse than the 
chutes at the Beach, for the bucket wobbled in the 
black hole. When we got to the bottom, a man 



146 


North to Nome 


gave us acetylene lamps because it was dark as a 
winter night down there. Then he told us that we 
were walking under the sea! It was true, too, be" 
cause this mine has tunnels even under the water, 
and we were in one of them. 

I could not hear any more of his talk just then, 
for trains loaded with chunks of rock came rum" 
bling along and we had to hop off the rails to let 
them pass. This kept me pretty busy, but I did 
manage to hear some of our guide’s little speech 
about mining. 

He told us that there are two kinds of mines, 
placer and quartz,. I would like the placer ones, 
where you shake pay dirt and water in a pan and 
watch for gold. That must be thrilling. The mines 
near Juneau are quarts, which means lots of dread" 
fully hard work with noisy machinery. Thousands 
of tons of solid rock must be blasted loose and then 
crushed to find particles of gold, fine as sand. 

That was about all I heard because the noise of 
the giant drills almost deafened me. Men were 
drilling holes into the walls of solid rock. Later, 
other men will put dynamite into those holes, and 
caves will be formed by the explosions. Am sure 
glad we did not wait to see that happen. 

Helen picked up her fountain pen and added a 
few more paragraphs to her letter: 

Some day this week we are all going up to the 
Mendenhall Glacier, I hope, where we can walk 
right out on the ice. Your children are having 
such a perfectly grand time! Isn’t Aunt Lou a 
darling to us? 



Summer Days in Juneau 


147 


Now you have the news. I am sorry that I can" 
not put all the thrills of the trip down on paper. 
Some will have to wait until I see you. 

Good'bye until next time. 

Your loving daughter 

Helen Turner 

P.S. We met a nice red^headed Alaskan boy, 
who is looking for his father. His name is Dan, 
and he is sixteen. 

H. T. 


Now that she had finished the letter, Helen de" 
cided to mail it at once. That was as good a way as 
any to help pass the time until Harry returned. Most 
likely he was off somewhere with that new kodak of 
his and was so interested in taking pictures that he 
had forgotten to come home. 

Out on the narrow street she took deep breaths 
of the cool, clean air. She was glad that there were 
no big factories here to scatter soot and grime all 
over this nice town. But if there are no smoky in" 
dustries, how do people earn a living? She had not 
thought of that important question before. 

There is mining, of course. Although most of 
the mines are out on the islands in the channel, the 
men working there must eat. That means ships 
have to bring to Juneau what food the people cannot 
raise. Shipping, then, is important partly because of 
the mines. When supplies come in, gold goes out. 
So mining and shipping unite to make prosperity. 



148 


North to Nome 


Helen looked up from her reverie and noticed the 
white dome of the Capitol. 

“Another reason.” She almost said it aloud. “The 
people who work for the government spend their 
money here. They help the town even without 
trying to.” 

Before she had time to think further about 
Juneau’s prosperity, she was at the post office. As 
she popped her letter into the mailbox, she heard 
the postmaster remark, “There’s a ship in now from 
the States. It’s leaving in an hour for the southwest 
coast.” 

“That’s where Seward is, and Valde2;, too,” Helen 
said to herself. “I wonder if Aunt Lou will take us 
there before we leave Alaska.” 

Outside again she noticed that everyone was head¬ 
ed for the wharves. Then she remembered that it 
is an old Alaskan custom for the people of the towns 
to greet incoming vessels. Indians passed her, loaded 
with baskets and beads, ready for the tourist trade. 
There were housewives and children as well as busi¬ 
ness men and miners on vacation. Around the trim 
white ship she could see a hundred fishing boats, pro¬ 
tected from the tide by a rocky breakwater. 

As she walked out on the pier, Dan’s words came 
back to her. “Fishing is a great industry in Juneau,” 
he had said. 



1 



An old-time gold prospector 


Alaska Steamship Company 





























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Summer Days in Juneau 


151 

“Tourists, too/’ decided Helen, walking along 
among the hundreds of visitors, who were now climb^ 
ing the steep streets toward the Capitol. 

“Fm glad Mt. Juneau is in a gay mood for them,” 
she thought as she turned and faced her favorite 
peak. 

Helen never grew tired of watching the play of 
light and shadow on her mountain. Behind the town 
it rose almost perpendicularly for three thousand feet 
until it stuck its head right through the clouds. To- 
day it was bright with sparkling snow and foamy 
waterfalls. Yesterday, in a low mist, it had looked 
dark and threatening, as if it meant to push half of 
Juneau into the channel. 

A woman buying baskets from a squaw reminded 
Helen that she wanted to get a small gift for her 
mother. In a friendly store she found two tiny totems 
that reminded her of happy days in Ketchikan. 
While she admired the fine carving of crow and 
raven upon the wooden pole, she caught snatches of 
an interesting conversation. 

“Juneau is the oldest town in southeastern Alaska. 
It’s been here since 1880, when Joseph Juneau and 
Richard Harris came prospecting in this region.” 

“I never knew there was mining in Alaska before 
the gold rush,” replied a familiar voice. 

“Yes,” continued the shopkeeper, eager to tell 



152 


North to Nome 


what he knew to a customer who liked to listen. 
‘’'Most folks don’t reali2;e that there were prospectors 
up here nearly twenty years before the big rush up 
to Dawson in ’98. We grew so fast that we became 
an incorporated town in 1900. I came here then,” 
he added proudly. 

Helen moved ten steps closer to the pair. "Miss 
Sanders,” she cried happily, ‘’'how did you get here?” 

"What a surprise! I thought you were far down 
the Yukon by this time,” exclaimed Helen’s history 
teacher. 

"I’ll get there before school opens.” 

"Then I shall expect you to know everything 
about Alaska,” said Miss Sanders. 

"I’ll have to listen a lot more before I can tell you 
half about this wonderful country.” 

"Suppose we do that then.” 

At this the shopkeeper looked pleased, for he 
liked to talk about Alaska. 

"When Juneau became the capital in 1906, it 
really became important,” he continued. "All Alaska 
is divided into four districts. Two senators and four 
representatives are elected from each one of these 
judicial divisions and . . just a minute, please. A 
customer is waiting.” 

"How is Harry?” asked Miss Sanders in the pause 
that followed. 




Canadian National Railways 


A gold mine at Juneau 











Summer Days in Juneau 


155 


'Tine, I hope. He went off by himself this morn¬ 
ing, and I haven’t seen him since. He should be 
back.” 

The storekeeper returned and started on his fa¬ 
vorite topic, the statehood of Alaska. 

"I only wish we would have another gold rush. 
No, not that I want to get rich quick, but to get 
more people up here. More people is what we need 
to make this territory a state.” 

"What is the population of Alaska?” asked Miss 
Sanders while Helen stood quietly and listened. 

"A little less than 60,000 in 1930. If we could 
only grow enough to become a state, we could elect 
our own governor, and no Congress in Washington 
could repeal the laws made by our legislature. Al¬ 
though we are allowed to elect our legislature, the 
laws which it makes may be repealed by Congress. 
I think we should be allowed to handle our own 
problems.” 

Miss Sanders agreed with his views and prom¬ 
ised to give the matter all of her attention. 

"Oh, oh! It’s late! ” cried Helen, glancing at her 
watch. "I promised Aunt Lou to be back early to 
dress for a tea party. Good-bye, Miss Sanders. I 
hope you enjoy your trip as much as we do ours.” 

Helen ran from the shop, leaving her teacher to 
discuss Alaska’s problems with Juneau’s loyal son. 



156 


North to Nome 


When Helen reached the hotel lobby, she scarcely 
noticed a group of people there, listening to one 
among them. Her mind intent on dressing for the 
tea, she passed them by and began to ascend the 
stairs. Halfway up she, too, stopped to listen. 

"'And he saved me on the glacier.” 

It was Harry’s voice! 

Downstairs she rushed, straight to her twin. It 
did not take a minute to learn how Dan McCarthy 
had kept his head and clutched her brother’s sleeve 
in time to prevent him from sliding over the cliff 
of ice. 

Dan was a hero now. But when Lou Turner 
wanted to reward him, he made an unusual request. 

"May Harry come and stay with me up at the 
farm for a few days?” he asked. 

"I will tend vegetables and milk cows, too,” prom- 
ised Harry, happy at the thought of helping to farm 
in Alaska. Then he went up to his room to dress 
for the tea party. 



Chapter X 

THE FOURTH OF-JULY 

A week later Dan McCarthy lay lounging in a 
steamer chair high up on the boat deck of the 
S. S. Prince Rupert. He was approaching Skagway 
now, headed north toward Dawson. 

Hope was high in his heart this sunny morning. 
In Dawson he might find his father. When he did, 
he would tell him of that thrilling moment when, 
standing upon the rough ice of the Mendenhall, he 
looked out over Auk Lake and saw the madly whirl¬ 
ing river, the sunny valley bright with wildflowers. 
First, however, he would tell him of kind Miss 
Turner, who instead of scolding him for taking Harry 
into danger on the glacier praised him for his cour¬ 
age in saving her nephew. 

''Dan may go to the farm with you if he wishes,’’ 
she had promised, "but as a reward you shall travel 
through Alaska with us as my guest.” 

Dan was overwhelmed with joy at the prospect. 


157 


North to Nome 


Nevertheless, at first he hesitated to accept the offer. 
He was a proud boy, not seeking a free trip from 
anyone. 

Lou Turner guessed his thoughts. “Probably it 
won’t be all play for you, though. You have re- 
membered well the history your father loved to tell 
of his Alaska. My niece and nephew here can learn 
much from you. I will be busy most of the time.” 

So Dan thanked her heartily and was now sailing 
north. 

Not for long was he alone, for soon Harry and 
Helen came rushing up. 

“How soon will we be at the locks?” demanded 
Harry. 

“What locks are you talking about?” 

“Well, isn’t this the Lynn Canal? The Panama 
Canal has locks to lift and lower the ships. What 
about this one?” 

Then Dan explained that this stretch of water is 
really not a canal at all, but only an arm of the 
Inside Passage that reaches in between the moun^ 
tains. When Vancouver sailed up these waters, he 
called this channel the Lynn Canal because it re- 
minded him of Lynn, his birthplace in England. 

“Still, I can’t see why he should think anyone had 
dug a canal here when he was just about the first 
white man to visit these parts,” insisted Harry. 






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The Fourth of July 


i6i 


'1 don't either," admitted Dan. ''Perhaps it was 
because this water is so very calm. Queer duck, that 
Vancouver." 

Helen and Harry liked Skagway the best of all 
their Alaskan cities so far. The crip dry air, rushing 
down from the mountains, gave them plenty of pep. 
They took deep breaths of it, planning a dozen hikes 
over the neighboring mountain passes. 

"This wind must be from the north," said Harry, 
squinting at the sun to get his bearings. 

"Of course, it is. I heard Aunt Lou say that in 
the Indian language Skagway means North Wind. 
The breeze feels refreshing now when the sun shines 
down on us, but in the wintertime—" Helen's teeth 
chattered in a mock shiver. 

In the gardens flowers, rhubarb, and cabbages were 
jumping up so fast in the long sunshiny days that a 
person could almost see them grow. The stems 
on the dahlia plants were as tall as the two twins put 
together. Standing beside them, Harry thought of 
the story of Jacf{ and the Beanstal\. During these 
long days he felt as though he were living in a very 
strange land of make-believe. 

There were other nice things about Skagway. On 
the very first morning of his visit he found a pan 
of rich milk beside his breakfast plate. Near it lay 
a skimmer. No one needed to tell him to lift the 



i 62 


North to Nome 


thick layer of yellow cream from the enameled pan 
to his bowl of berries. 

Enjoying this delicious meal, Harry was glad that 
Skagway food prices had dropped since the gold rush 
of '98. Even his aunt, who did not have to pinch 
pennies, would not be able to pay a dollar for one 
piece of pie or five dollars for a small steak. Yet 
those were the prices asked during the gold-rush 
days. However, those were also the days when even 
a boy, like himself, might find a thousand dollars in 
a few hours. 

On the first of July an excited Helen appeared 
at the dinner table. Didn't Harry reali2;e that in less 
than three days the Fourth would be upon them? 
That Alaska was as much a part of the United States 
as California? That it was important to celebrate 
that great day? 

Of course, Harry did know all those things. He 
had been examining the fine fireworks in the shop 
windows and deciding which he would like to buy. 
It would be fun to set off some of those rockets this 
year instead of just sparklers, which were about all 
that were allowed back in San Francisco. 

"Til bet you will see the best entertainment of 
your whole lives," said Dan. ""When Alaska cele¬ 
brates, she puts on a fine show with speeches and 
contests and a barbecue. The Indians take part in it. 



The Fourth of July 


163 

too. Looks almost like the old gold-rush days, so 
my dad says.” 

“May we take part in the contests?” asked Harry. 

“Of course you can. There will be pri 2 ;es for the 
winners. They do have good times here on the 
Fourth! ” 

Already, prospectors who had lived through the 
days of '98 began to drift down from the Yukon 
territory. As Dan noticed them come into town, he 
never missed a chance to ask if any of them knew 
his father. A few had known Mr. McCarthy in the 
past but had no idea of his present whereabouts. 
Dan refused to be down-hearted. Perhaps tomorrow 
would bring better news. 

Often these oldtimers gathered in the parlor of 
the city's best hotel, telling stories that awakened 
memories of the days when a fellow didn't have to 
dig so deep for gold. It was a gay reunion when old 
pals who had not met in years recalled the great 
golden nuggets they had dug in Dawson, in Fair¬ 
banks, and in Nome. A halo of romance surrounded 
those old days. Even the horrors of the White Pass 
and the tortures suffered on the Chilkoot Trail faded 
as the old sourdoughs began to polish up their tall 
tales of adventure. There was nothing that Harry 
and Helen and Dan enjoyed more than to listen. 

There was the story of George Carmack who. 



164 


North to Nome 


with two Indian companions, made the rich strike 
that started the Klondike gold rush late in the year 
1897. 

“I hold that it was really Carmack’s Kate who 
found the first gold in the Yukon,” declared Long 
Jim. 'If she hadn’t ’a gone after water to wash 
those dirty dishes, perhaps none of us would be 
sourdoughs right now.” 

"She would ’a saved us a heap o’ trouble if she 
had kept away from that crick,” exclaimed Jim’s 
partner. "After we got the gold fever in our blood, 
we was good for nothin’ else but prospectin’.” 

"Is it the lady’s fault that we haven’t enough sense 
to know when to quit the game?” asked Long Jim. 

"Anyhow, I hold that Carmack, himself, found 
the gold while fishing for supper,” argued Long Jim’s 
partner. "He saw the yellow nuggets glitter; he dug 
down deep and pulled them from the earth. Skookum 
Jim and Takish Charlie were beside him in a 
minute.” 

"Well, you can keep to your own story and I’ll 
stick to mine. I still believe it was the woman who 
discovered the gold.” 

For the hundred^and-first time the partners argued 
about George Carmack’s lucky strike. 

It was a sourdough named Carson who intro- 
duced Dan and the twins to Soapy Smith. Now, 



The Fourth of July 


165 

this introduction was no ordinary one, for Soapy 
had been dead for more than thirty years. But the 
memory of his daring deeds still lives on in south¬ 
eastern Alaska. 

“Whoever gave him such a sissy name as Soapy?’’ 
asked Harry, doubting if all the stories of the des¬ 
perado’s lawless raids were true. 

“We give him that name,” replied Carson, “but 
he really earned it back in Colorado where he begun 
to practise his career. Back there he peddled soap. 
He’d make a little speech and wrap a ten- or twenty- 
dollar bill around each bar. He’d hold it up high, 
so’s everybody could see the money. Then he’d 
begin his sales talk. Of course, the people were crazy 
to buy—you just couldn’t held ’em. He’d raise the 
price higher ’n higher. The fool people would buy 
the bar for ten or twenty times what it was worth, 
figurin’ to get the money wrapped around the out¬ 
side. But when they’d open up their package, they’d 
find nothin’ but soap. And mighty poor soap at that. 
I know,” chuckled the prospector, “’cause I was one 
of the victims myself.” 

“You were? Did you really know Soapy Smith?” 
asked Helen. 

“In person,” replied the narrator of Soapy’s his¬ 
tory. “But what he done in Colorado was tame 
compared to what he done up here.” 



i66 


North to Nome 


"'You knew him here, too?’’ 

"Sure I did. Nearly got hooked in with his gang, 
too. That’s another story.” The old prospector 
paused a moment; then continued, "Soapy laid his 
plans well. Often he’d send some of his gang down 
to Seattle. There they’d board a steamer cornin’ 
north so’s they could sizie up the passengers before 
they landed. Sometimes they’d play cards with the 
passengers and gamble with ’em and swindle ’em, 
too. Then, if these people succeeded in makin’ a 
good strike up in the Klondike, Soapy’d know just 
how to get their money away from them, easy like.” 

The old man stopped his story, staring into space 
as if he had forgotten his audience of three. 

"I suppose this Mr. Soapy Smith robbed everyone 
in sight?” Helen hinted. 

"Oh, Soapy was no common robber. Miss. He 
often handed over the money that he stole from 
rich gamblers to poor miners who hadn’t even a grub- 
stake. He was even charitable and give money to 
the church on more than one occasion.” 

"Oh, I know,” said Harry. "He was an Alaskan 
Robin Hood.” 

The prospector allowed that he had never met 
Mr. Hood, but guessed that Mr. Soapy might be a 
little like him if Mr. Hood was a polite sort of 
gentleman. 



The Fourth of July 


167 


The griziTiled prospector drew a vivid picture of 
the old boom days in Skagway. Instead of pencil 
and paper he used words — everyday words that 
any child could understand. Somehow his simple 
language described the kind of town that Skagway 
used to be better than the fancy phrases of many 
a polished writer. While Mr. Carson told his Skag- 
way tales, his listeners could almost see the long 
main street lined with rough wooden buildings, and 
hear the shouts of merrymakers emptying their pokes 
of gold dust to buy drinks and dances. 

Sometimes an unhappy figure was the hero of the 
miner’s tale. There was the story of Peter Larson, 
who lost his wife on the Chilkoot Trail. Together 
the couple had packed their pots and pans and food 
and blankets on their backs up the steep icy path. 
It was early in December of ’97, before the thousands 
of eager gold-seekers had gathered there from every 
section of the country. Peter and his wife went up 
soon after Thanksgiving, and a snowstorm caught 
them. Their blankets frozje around their bodies. A 
week later Peter stumbled into Skagway, a pitiful 
figure. His wife was dead; his goods were scattered. 

“Whatever happened to the poor man after that?” 

“Don’t know. Miss,” replied Mr. Carson. 

“Didn’t you ever find out?” 

“No, we never did. By the next day someone else 



North to Nome 


168 

was in trouble, and we clean forgot all about Larson. 
Those times was rough, Miss, and only the strong 
got by.” 

Harry wanted to hear all about the lucky strikes. 
Did many people get rich? 

Well, some folks did. Carson’s friend, one Alex- 
ander Sims, had made his pile in less than a week. It 
didn’t do him any good, though, because before he 
could get away from Skagway, all the gold was gone, 
wasted in saloons and dance halls. Poor, weak Alex¬ 
ander had to borrow enough money to get back to 
Seattle. 

Sometimes, according to the old prospector, even 
a sensible man did not get to the ship with his gold. 
Soapy Smith or a member of his gang would help 
the thrifty fellow pack his load down the White 
Pass or the Chilkoot Trail. Then, when the end of 
the trail was reached, he would forget to return the 
goods to their rightful owner. If the miner insisted 
on his right of ownership, a bullet-hole in his head 
would end the argument. The robbers would then 
rush with their loot down to Skagway, where the 
powerful leader. Soapy Smith, would divide the 
spoils among his gang or make a donation to church 
or charity. 

''Didn’t anyone ever try to put that wicked man 
in prison?” Helen asked. 








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The Fourth of July 


171 

''Well, Soapy was quite a character in these parts 
and brought lots of business, too; so folks was divided 
over his virtues—or the lack of them, I should say. 
He was a persuasive critter, too, and even had a 
preacher or two buffaloed with his fine soft manners. 
But one day he landed there.” 

The Alaskan miner pointed to a patch of earth, 
the famous Soapy's grave. It was a poor little place 
with neither stone nor cross to mark it. At one time 
there had been a wooden monument, later a stone 
one, but so widespread was this villain's fame that 
tourists chipped and chopped his tombstone for 
souvenirs until the grave was bare. 

"'Twas a glad day for many a miner when Soapy 
met his end,'' the old prospector recollected. "For 
some weeks before the final shooting, folks had been 
gettin' impatient with the outlaw's tactics. The cli¬ 
max came when he robbed a miner by the name of 
Stewart of twenty-seven hundred dollars. Folks was 
up on their ears then and formed a vigilance com¬ 
mittee. Soapy threatened to shoot at sight anyone 
who interfered with his actions. When young Reid, 
and a fine man he was, tried to arrest him for the 
robbery, that outlaw shot the poor man right through 
the middle.'' 

"Oh, the wicked murderer,'' cried Helen, her dark 
eyes shocked and angry. 



172 


North to Nome 


“That shaft you can just see over there marks 
Reid’s grave,” the old man informed his young audh 
ence. “He’s sort of a Skagway hero.” 

The story-telling over, Harry, Helen, and Dan 
found Skagway a very quiet place on this sunny 
summer afternoon. The long main street with a rail¬ 
road track down its middle was lined with provision 
stores and curio shops where tourists were buying 
soda pop and candy, tiny totem poles, and flowers 
carved from ivory. A few Indians lay do2;ing in 
warm comers. 

On the Fourth of July, the twins were told that 
according to an old Skagway custom the day’s cele¬ 
bration was held at Dyea, only about four miles 
away. Once this spot had been a flourishing tent 
city, the starting point for would-be miners bound 
for the Chilkoot Pass and the famous Klondike gold 
fields. Now, every day in the year but one, it lies 
deserted in its little valley, only a name to cheechakos 
and sourdoughs alike. 

“It reminds me of a ghost town, like those old 
mining towns in California,” said Helen when she 
saw it. 

“Only worse,” Harry reminded her, “for there are 
not even empty buildings here to bring back the 
past.” 

They joined the crowd that had gathered around 



The Fourth of July 


173 


a speaker's stand and with the other members of 
Skagway's population listened to the speeches of 
patriotic citiziens, while the aroma of roasting meat 
teased their appetites. Soon the Governor rose to 
speak. 

'I didn't know that Alaska has a governor, just 
like any one of our states," whispered Harry to his 
sister. 

“Of course. I learned that down in Juneau. He's 
not elected though. The president of the United 
States appoints him for four years." 

“Sh—h'h. He's clearing his throat." 

During the Governor's address both Turners 
learned many more facts about the Great Country. 
The one they remembered longest was that it is the 
Organic Act, passed by our Congress, which is really 
the constitution of Alaska and which provides for 
a governor and legislature of its own. 

The first contest after the program was a tug of 
war between the men of Skagway and the visitors. 
Although the men of Skagway pulled upon the rope 
with all their might, their efforts gained for them 
not one inch of ground. Dan McCarthy, who was 
with the sourdoughs, felt his side giving way to 
the “outsiders." He groaned as he glimpsed Harry 
Turner tugging with all his might on the opposite 
half of the rope. Why did his friend want to help 



174 


North to Nome 


those tourists? Then his sharp blue eyes spied a 
certain tree. He stepped away from the line of strain- 
ing men. 

“Hi, there,'’ he yelled. “Are you sourdoughs all 
blind? Can’t you see that the cheechakos have tied 
their end of the rope to that tree?” 

“The kid’s right,” cried an old prospector. “The 
cheechakos fooled us this time, all right.” 

The cheechakos howled with laughter. Good- 
naturedly they untied their rope, and the contest be¬ 
gan once more. This time Dan was satisfied with 
the result of the tug of war, for all the cheechakos 
sat down suddenly and were pulled along the bumpy 
ground. 

Everyone was in high spirits when after a time 
tourists and old-timers alike sat down to a feast and 
satisfied real Alaskan appetites. 

Back in Skagway again, after the last piece of fire 
works had glowed against the heavens, Dan and the 
Turners talked of the tales they had heard about 
the old days. Harry was especially interested in 
Soapy Smith. He couldn’t get his mind off that 
scoundrel. Even when Aunt Lou came to his room 
to say good night, he had one more question to 
ask concerning that unusual rascal whom many 
liked, whom thousands feared and hated. 

For a moment Lou Turner did not reply. Then 



The Fourth of July 


175 


she said, ''There is something I have never told to 
you or your sister. Perhaps neither of your parents 
has ever mentioned it either.'** 

"Well, what is it?'** asked Harry wide-eyed. 

"Today your father would no doubt be a rich man 
if Soapy Smith had not stolen your grandfather's 
gold.” 

'■'■Really? Tell me more about it, please. Tell me 
all about it!” 

■■‘Not tonight. Tomorrow, when we ride over the 
White Pass toward the Yukon, you and your sister 
shall hear the whole story.” 



Chapter XI 

OVER THE WHITE PASS 

Harry Turner awoke the next morning feeling 
strangely confused. Last night someone had told him 
something that had made him glad. No, it really 
had made a sorry feeling start away down inside of 
him. He rubbed his eyes, sat up in bed. 

Oh, yes, he might have been rich. He did re' 
member now that Aunt Lou had told him he might 
have been rich if Soapy Smith had not stolen his 
grandfather’s poke. Today he was going up over the 
White Pass and would see the trail down which 
Grandpa Turner had trudged back in ’98. He tried 
to recall this grandfather who had died many years 
ago in San Francisco. He could remember only the 
white whiskers, the homy, work'worn hands. A 
ray of sunlight fell across the foot of his bed. It 
must be late! He jumped up and dressed hurriedly. 

The crisp morning air gave him an appetite that 
welcomed fruit and eggs and griddlecakes. Across 

176 



Alaska Steamship Company 

The old trail over the White Pass, i8g8 










Over the White Pass 


179 


the breakfast table Helen’s face was calm. He could 
see at a glance that she did not guess how close the 
family had once been to wealth and luxury. 

At nine o’clock that morning the Turners and 
Dan said good-bye to Skagway. The comfortable 
train of the White Pass Railway carried them away 
from the little city into a canyon through which 
rushed a glacial river. They crossed the foaming 
Skagway River and entered a deep gorge that twisted 
between mountains. By the time Harry had his 
camera ready to take a picture of the snowy peaks 
ahead, the train was clinging to two rails perched 
on a ledge upon the mountainside. 

“How could they ever build a railroad up here?” 
asked the astonished Helen. 

“The engineers won their battle over nature be¬ 
cause the railroad was necessary,” replied her aunt. 
“Remember, it was begun in 1898 when thousands 
of people burdened with their possessions were strug¬ 
gling on foot over the terrible Chilkoot Pass; when 
they were dying from exhaustion and the hardships 
of the trail. Men were willing to pay a high price 
to ride over these mountains.” 

“It cost plenty to build this road,” observed Dan. 

“ 'Plenty’ hardly covers the amount. The first 
twenty miles alone cost about two million dollars. 
When you realizie that this track only goes to White 



i8o 


North to Nome 


Horse, one hundred and eleven miles from Skagway, 
you can get out your pencil and a piece of paper and 
do a bit of figuring.’’ 

“Did such an expensive railroad really pay?” 
asked Harry. 

“It certainly did. People were glad to pay high 
rates to get their gold out safely. The very first train 
carried more than two million dollars worth of the 
precious metal.” 

“Two million dollars’ worth, in one load? Why, 
I can’t even imagine that much gold!” 

“Neither can I, Helen.” 

As the travelers talked, the train was running 
along a shelf hewn out of solid rock. One side of 
the parlor car was darkened by cliffs that rose straight 
up past the window for a thousand feet. Helen and 
Harry and Dan rushed to the wicker chairs on the 
opposite side and gazed out into space. One thousand 
feet below, the Skagway River tumbled over 
boulders on its way to the Pacific. 

A lonely mountain tried to block the train’s 
progress, but the engine circled left and shot out on 
a trestle above a yawning gorge. Slowly, slowly— 
it fairly crept upon the slim steel bridge that spanned 
the chasm. 

“However could men work up here?” It was 
Harry who asked the question. 



Over the White Pass 


i8i 

'In some places men had to be lowered over the 
side of the precipice on ropes so that they could set 
off powder charges which would blast a pathway in 
the rock.” 

Tiny patches of snow lay in the hollows along the 
track. Clusters of blue lupine and bright red wild- 
flowers splashed the rocks with vivid color. Ever¬ 
green trees clung to the crevices on the crags. 

Lou Turner was watching carefully the rugged 
countryside. No detail of track or trail escaped her 
keen eyes. As the train shot around a sudden curve, 
she exclaimed, "Look down there, both of you! Do 
you see that huge boulder at the bottom of the 
gorge? And the lone fir tree beside it?” 

"Yes, yes, we do!” 

"That marks the spot where Soapy Smith robbed 
your grandfather.” 

"Were you with him then?” asked Harry. Helen 
could only sit and stare in blank ama2iement, for she 
had never heard this piece of news before. 

"No. I was with Mother, your own Grandmother 
Turner, up in Dawson,” she explained. "The mem¬ 
ory of our terrible trip up the trail in the spring of 
’PS was still fresh in your grandfather’s mind. He 
would not allow his wife and child to make the 
dangerous return journey on foot. Your grandmoth¬ 
er argued that walking downhill would be easy for 



i 82 


North to Nome 


both of us, but he was firm. His family must wait 
for the railroad and come down in ease and comfort. 
He had made his pile; he could afford the best for 
those he loved. Your grandmother suggested that 
he wait with us, for it was rumored that the new 
trains would be armed in order to protect the miners’ 
gold. But no, that would not do. The gold must be 
shipped outside at once. So, with your grandmoth¬ 
er’s blessing, he set out alone for Skagway. 

"Tor two weeks we received no word from him. 
That was not unusual, however, since there was no 
regular mail service. Then at the end of the third 
week we knew the worst. It was noon when my 
mother returned from town with a paper clenched 
in her hand. She did not say a word to me, but her 
face was stem and pale. After our lunch I picked 
up the paper and started to spell out words. I was 
just learning to read simple sentences then. My 
father’s name was on the first page. I ran to Mother 
and asked her what it meant. Very briefly she told 
me that Father had been beaten and robbed of all 
his gold by one of Soapy Smith’s gang. But he was 
fortunate, very fortunate, to have escaped with his 
life. Most miners didn’t. 

""At the time I did not understand what the loss 
of a quarter of a million dollars would mean to us. 
For days the name of Turner was on every Dawson 



Over the White Pass 


183 


sourdough's lips. Men and women sighed and shook 
their heads and sometimes gave me candy when they 
saw me on the street. I was enjoying my strange 
popularity when Mother told me we were to leave 
Dawson the following week, on the first train of the 
White Pass Railway. That was in January, 1900." 

“Well, I never imagined we had a story like that 
in our family's history," said Helen, astonished. 

“I suppose your father, like me, seldom, if ever, 
thinks about it." 

“Was Grandpa down in Skagway, waiting, when 
you and Grandmother got there?" 

“No. He had already gone on to Seattle. He had 
left on the first boat that went south from Skagway." 

“How could he when he had no money?" Harry 
thought of that question. 

“A miner whom he had helped loaned him the 
fare. Mother repaid that good friend as soon as 
she got down to the coast. You see, she had been 
able to save a bit out of the housekeeping money; 
so she had a tidy sum laid away for emergencies." 

“You must have had a grand time when you got 
back to Seattle, telling all your chums about your 
thrilling experiences in the north." 

“No, Helen, I really didn't. My father would 
allow none of us to speak of our Alaskan experiences. 
He felt that the journey had been a failure just be- 



184 


North to Nome 


cause he had no gold to show for it. And I soon 
forgot the midnight sun in the excitement of a new 
baby brother. Your father was born just three 
months after we were settled in our new home.” 

''He was? No wonder he never has told us any 
of these perfectly thrilling experiences! ” mused 
Helen. "How I wish all these things had happened 
to me when I was a little girl! ” 

"Oh, yes, you do not! ” contradicted her brother. 
"What would you have done when the thermometer 
dropped to forty below? Fll bet you would have 
crawled right inside the stove then.” 

"Did it really get that cold. Aunt Lou?” 

"It did! And does yet, for that matter. Only 
now the people are prepared for the low tempera- 
tures.” 

"Look! Look!” shouted Dan, who had been silent 
while Aunt Lou told her story. "Down there you 
can just see the remains of White Pass City. Get 
your camera out, Harry. The train stops here a 
minute, and you can get a picture.” 

Harry pointed his kodak at the trail of ’98. Deep 
down in the gully lay the narrow path, winding like 
a ribbon along the crooked Skagway River. There 
was a gleam of sun-bleached roof among the brush. 
He made that tottering building the center of inter¬ 
est in his picture, not because the poor old thing 



Over the White Pass 


was beautiful but because it marked the last remain" 
ing trace of White Pass City. There during the gold 
rush thousands of persons had pitched their tents 
while waiting for rafts and boats to carry them on 
down the lakes and river to Dawson and the Klon" 
dike gold fields. 

Lou Turner had known that trail when she was 
about half of Harry’s age. Her feet had stumbled 
on its stones; her thin body had been beaten by the 
cold cruel wind that rushed upon them from the 
north. She did not like to recall the sleet and snow 
that had made her life so miserable. Rather would 
she remember the bright sweet"smelling flowers, the 
majestic mountains, and the sun"splashed valleys that 
made her happy now. It would be easy to bring 
back this delightful scene with Harry’s pictures. 

Helen shuddered when she heard of Dead Horse 
Gulch. Her brother, who had learned the reason 
for the name, explained eagerly. 

''Hundreds of pack horses died along that stretch 
of the trail and fell or were thrown down into that 
gulch. Some of them were just exhausted under their 
heavy burdens and couldn’t go another inch of the 
way. Others, one old"timer told me, were so dis" 
gusted and discouraged with the toil of the climb 
that they just naturally jumped overboard. Do you 
believe that, Dan?” 



i86 


North to Nome 


Dan laughed. “Oh, a miner'll tell you any tall tale 
about his horse. Still, I wouldn't blame a horse, or a 
mule either, for jumping off that trail." 

The train approached the summit of White Pass, 
its speed slackened, and two men in uniform hopped 
on. 

“Has anything happened?" asked Helen, glancing 
apprehensively at the officers. 

“No. It's just the customs men, coming through 
the car to inspect the baggage," replied Aunt Lou. 
“We pass into Canada in just a few minutes." 

“Canada? Why, isn't Dawson City in Alaska?" 

“You just bet it isn't!" 

“I never felt so dumb in my life!" confessed Helen, 
blushing to the roots of her dark hair. 

“Oh, don't feel bad about that little mistake," 
consoled Dan. “Many grown people down in the 
States don’t know that Dawson in the Yukon Terri- 
tory is part of the Dominion of Canada." 

Customs inspection was a brief affair, and the tall 
courteous inspectors smiled pleasantly when Helen 
informed them that the Turners were bound for the 
Arctic Circle. 

At the summit of White Pass Aunt Lou and her 
three young companions looked intently through the 
windows to see the Stars and Stripes of the United 
States and the Union Jack of England floating side 






















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Over the White Pass 


189 

by side, thus marking the international boundary. 

“This is as far as Soapy Smith dared to come in 
the old days,” said Aunt Lou. 

“Was he afraid of the customs men?” asked 
Helen. 

“No. He feared the Royal Northwest Mounted 
Police,” replied her aunt. “It is said that a Mountie 
always gets his man. Evidently Soapy felt that it 
would be healthier to avoid a meeting with these 
efficient representatives of the law.” 

A short distance farther on the train followed 
the beautiful shores of Lake Bennett for miles and 
miles. Mountains with wooded slopes and rose^coL 
ored tops surrounded this long narrow glacierTed 
body of rare green water. Helen was enchanted 
with its beauty. 

“This lake is a natural mirror. Aunt Lou. So quiet 
is the water that it seems as if the very mountain^ 
tops are floating on it.” Helen referred to the images 
of the mountains reflected on the placid lake. 

“It is a lovely sight,” agreed her aunt. 

The next time the train stopped the travelers were 
ready for food. Aunt Lou led Helen and Harry and 
Dan into the lunch room at the station. There they 
had their first taste of moose meat. Harry liked the 
wild flavor that marked it as game, and Dan confessed 
that he had been hoping for some of it ever since 



North to Nome 


190 

he left Seattle. But Helen preferred rare roast beef. 

Carcross was crammed with interest for the young- 
sters. First of all, a fox farm aroused their curiosity. 
They lost no time in covering the quarter mile that 
led straight to this unusual farmyard. From a distance 
the place looked like Grandma Fenton’s chicken yard; 
there were little coops within a fenced-in place. 
However, these fences were walls of strong steel 
mesh sunk deep into the ground so that the foxes 
could not burrow their way out, and doubled back 
at the top so that they could not climb from their 
pens. The little coops were board kennels set high 
above the ground. While the Turners and Dan 
watched, the foxes ran happily up and down the 
wooden chutes that served as entrances to the ken¬ 
nels. Harry expected the animals to be bold, to 
scratch the wire grating with vicious paws. 

''See, they are not wild at all,” remarked Helen. 

"Of course not,” agreed Dan. "Why, sometimes 
foxes are so timid that they get panicky if a stranger 
only comes near them. I have often heard Dad 
tell of the time a fox on a farm near here got so 
excited that she went cra2;y and ate up her young. 
After that the owner kept all strangers away from 
the property, for foxes are really very shy and are 
easily frightened by strange faces.” 

The baby foxes were the most interesting of all. 




A fox farm near Fairbanks 



















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Over the White Pass 


193 


They were kept by themselves in a large pen, almost 
like a nursery. Helen loved their long bushy tails 
and sparkling jet'black eyes. She was thrilled when 
the owner picked up a handsome little silvenfellow 
and laid him in her arms. The baby was quiet cis 
a kitten and snuggled against her soft coat. 

“That little beauty will bring me five hundred 
dollars in just a few weeks,” said the owner of the 
farm. 

“Five hundred dollars? You are going to sell 
him?” 

“Certainly. That’s why I raise these animals. For 
their fur.” 

“Yes, of course,” agreed Helen hastily. “But won’t 
someone have to kill him to get the fur?” 

“Naturally.” 

“Oh, I could never bear to raise pretty little feh 
lows like these for that. I’ll never, never wear any 
kind of fur again!” 

“You’ll get over that,” prophesied the proprietor, 
placing the silvengray kitten back in his pen. 

Next, Dan suggested that they watch the tip end 
of Lake Bennett for herds of caribou, for he knew 
that the name Carcross means caribou crossing. 
After almost an hour’s patient waiting no one had 
had as much as a single glimpse of one of these proud 
animals. Then, suddenly, something happened. It 



194 


North to Nome 


was Harry who first spied a pair of branching antlers 
rise above the surface of the water. 

“It’s caribou!” he cried. “There’s a whole herd 
of them. See them churn the water white!” 

“Sh—h-h!” warned Dan. “You’ll frighten them 
away with all your noise.” 

But the caribou kept coming on. They swam with 
power and with grace. Once, in the middle of the 
lake, the lead stag stopped. For a split second Harry 
feared he would turn the herd away. The animal 
tossed his proud head high in sudden alarm. He 
changed his course, swinging left toward a rocky 
bank. Once on the shore the herd spread out in a 
long straggling line for protection against their 
enemy, the wolf. Fifty caribou winding up the bald 
rocky slope made a striking picture that the twins 
did not forget for many days. 

The three of them were roused from their silent 
watch by the deep vibrant beat of an Indian tom- 
tom. Seeking a new thrill, they rushed off in the 
direction of the sound. They found that it was made 
by an Indian man dressed in skin breeches and a 
handsome beaded jacket, who was beating the drum 
and chanting an advertisement at the same time. 

“Come, come! Hear about the gold rush. All 
about the big gold rush. Lecture, lecture right now. 
Come!” 



Over the White Pass 


195 


The Turner twins and Dan needed no second in¬ 
vitation. In the lecture hall they found Lou Turner 
examining a model salmon trap. There were many 
things there for all of them to see and touch and 
to admire—fine beaded moccasins, hand-carved ivory 
ornaments, bows, spears, and bearskins. 

In a little while Indian Patsy Henderson began to 
speak. His was not a dull speech, memorizied and 
mumbled just to draw half-dollars from tourist 
pockets. It was a thrilling tale. He told of the golden 
past when men plucked nuggets from the near-by 
creeks. He knew many gold-rush stories, too, for 
as a lad he had lived here even before the creeks 
showed the yellow color that drew the white men 
north. 

Harry thought about his grandfather. He won¬ 
dered whether Grandpa Turner had experienced the 
adventures that the Indian was telling about. Helen 
also thought of her grandfather, and the lost for¬ 
tune. Perhaps all the gleaming yellow metal he had 
found would have been spent long ago, she reflected, 
but if there had been some of it left over for her own 
father, the Turners would not have to save and count 
the coppers now. There might even be college and 
parties for them. 

Dan did not hear the stirring stories of Indian 
Patsy Henderson. It was as if he were listening to 



196 


North to Nome 


his own father's voice tell the tales. A surge of 
homesickness swept over the boy. If only he, Daniel 
Michael McCarthy, knew which way to turn, what 
course to take! In less than three days, now, he 
would be heading north along the Yukon down to 
Dawson. That fact was his only consolation. 



Chapter XII 

DOWN TO DAWSON 

The Yukon flows north for a thousand miles be- 
fore it wanders south to meet the Bering Sea. It is 
a wilful river, for although it rises almost within 
sight of the Pacific, it cuts for itself a twenty-two 
hundred mile course into Canada and across Alaska 
before it empties into the cold gray waters of the 
western ocean. No one knows the exact birthplace 
of this strange, headstrong river. There are many 
who claim Lake Bennett deserves the honor; others 
hold that the source of the Yukon is in a tiny trickling 
stream up on the summit of the pass. But everyone 
who takes the trip beyond White Pass agrees that 
White Horse is the real beginning of the river. 

White Horse is a clean little town with its one 
wide main street lined with white frame buildings. 
Dashing young Northwest Mounted Police in bright 
red uniforms add a touch of color to the place. Up 
and down, up and down the streets and lanes they 
parade, mounted on their fine black horses. 


197 


North to Nome 


Helen Turner was content to poke about the town, 
casting an occasional admiring glance at the gay ro- 
mantic figures. Not so, the boys. They preferred 
to explore the mysterious dark canyons beside the 
Yukon. 

“Let’s stop at the Mounties’ barracks first,” sug- 
gested Dan. “Maybe I can ask about my father 
there.” 

But they never got to the Mounties’ neat log 
cabins, for at the edge of town they met Mr. Sharpe. 

“I am Ebenezer Sharpe,” he introduced himself, 
shaking hands most cordially. “I believe you are the 
two boys I’ve been hearing about. I’ve just been 
talking to your aunt. Miss Lou Turner, about a 
Mr. McCarthy.” 

“Oh, do you know him, sir?” asked Dan eagerly. 

“Can’t say that I do,” returned the stranger kind- 
ly. “But I get around some, and I shall be on the 
watch for him. Where are you two headed for 
now?” 

“We would like to hike to Miles Canyon. Would 
it take very long?” 

“Not if I take you in my model T Ford. Jump 
in and hold on.” 

The boys had no chance to ask questions as they 
bounced along the bumpy road on the high rocky 
bank of a rushing river. Beside the whirling white 



Down to Dawson 


199 


waters, Mr. Sharpe was at his best as he told them 
of the old days. 

''Now Miles Canyon, in my opinion, is one of the 
scenic wonders of the world,’' he said. "Its sheer 
cliffs, its seething waters are magnificent. The 
pioneers of ’98 were very brave to attempt to shoot 
those rapids. Yes, very brave indeed. Many of their 
number perished in the whirling waters.” 

"I wouldn’t like to swim down there,” said Harry. 

"You couldn’t. The current is extremely swift. 
The daring pioneers who came through on rafts felt 
its whole power.” Mr. Sharpe’s words were full of 
meaning. "Hundreds of their flimsy crafts cracked 
up against the granite walls of the river or were 
sucked under by the whirlpools. Many a man lost 
all his goods, trying to shoot those rapids. Indeed, 
he was lucky if he did not lose his life, also. Those 
were hard days. I tell you, those were hard cruel 
days.” 

The boys sat spellbound as their new friend 
brought back to life the stirring drama of those 
thrilling days on the Yukon. Riding back to White 
Horse, the boys felt the spell of the Yukon upon 
them and they could speak of nothing but the mighty 
river. 

"There is a mystery about this big stream,” 
Ebenezer Sharpe remarked. 



200 


North to Nome 


There was a mystery about this man, too. His 
hands were hard and horny as if they had worked 
many a stubborn claim; yet his English was almost 
perfect, not like that of the sourdoughs down in 
Skagway. 

''Must have gone to college,” Harry pondered. 

"Some folks who lost all their possessions hated 
it, the river, but before they were through, it got 
them, too. The Yukon does something to a person 
that makes him change his fear to a kind of love. 
I guess you youngsters cannot understand that sort 
of thing just yet. But you will if you stay with the 
river long enough.” 

The next evening at seven a steamer tooted im¬ 
patiently beside the wooden wharf at White Horse. 
It seemed as if all the people who lived in that little 
city had come down to the river to see the S. S. 
Yukon off. Good-byes were gay affairs, and the 
Turners entered into the spirit of the fun. 

"It seems queer to know that we are far inland 
and yet travel by boat instead of train,” declared 
Helen, watching the town fade into the distance. 

"Alaska is a land of navigable rivers,” replied Aunt 
Lou. "It does have all forms of transportation—^bus, 
railroad, airplane, and boat—but not all in all places. 
Personally, I like these river boats. They go slowly 
enough to be restful and to give a person time to 



Down to Dawson 


201 


think about what he is seeing. A magnificent coun' 
try lies ahead.” 

“As grand as the first part of this trip has been?” 
“Like it?” 

“Love it!” 

Dan and the twins scarcely slept through all the 
seven hundred and sixty miles to Dawson. There 
was so much to see along the way that they even ate 
their meals on deck from where they could scan all 
the surrounding country. In the middle of the night 
they liked to waken and enjoy the full glory of the 
midnight sun. They would watch it sink into the 
Yukon, leaving a rosy glow behind it. Slowly, slow- 
ly the sky would pale to lemon yellow, and the river 
would become a sheet of molten gold. 

At this point Dan always pulled a paper from his 
pocket and started to read the news, just to show 
his companions that it is possible to read at midnight 
on the Yukon. Then, almost at once, the sky would 
flush a pale pink, deepen into rose. 

“That's sunrise,” Dan would announce proudly. 

And he was always right. Another day had 
dawned up on the Yukon. For a distance beyond 
White Horse the river is seldom wider than six hum 
dred feet. The water is calm and deep and on the 
surface smooth as glass. Beneath the placid surface 
waters, however, there is a swift current that grabs 



202 


North to Nome 


ships and swings them toward the shore. In order 
to proceed ships must follow a 2;ig2;ag course, now 
favoring the left bank, now the right, for the mighty 
Yukon is a river of swiftly changing moods. At 
times it is sullen and angry; then again it is so serene 
that it seems to smile upon the passing ships. 

Soon the river widens into Lake LeBarge. The 
water here is still, reflecting the striking columns of 
red rock that rise high against the shore line. High 
hills of soft gray limestone blend with the soft pale 
light. 

Early the next morning excitement gripped the 
ship's passengers. They were conscious of it as they 
played ping-pong or promenaded on the deck. 

“Today we reach the Rapids," murmured one. 

“During the gold rush Old Five Fingers was more 
dangerous than that desperado. Soapy Smith," vol¬ 
unteered another. 

Harry knew that Old Five Fingers was the fam¬ 
ous Five Finger Rapids, but he wondered just why 
a stretch of water should have that queer name. He 
did not have many hours to wait before he found 
the answer to his question. 

About eleven o’clock on that same morning some 
of the old-timers began to go below for cameras. 
The cheechakos aboard thought there would be time 
enough later, for the water was still much too smooth 




Five Finger Rapids, Yukon River 











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Down to Dawson 


205 


to promise thrilling pictures. Before long, however, 
they, too, were scrambling below for kodaks and 
field glasses. 

At the end of this stretch of polished water, castles 
of rock rose up to block the passage of the ship. 
Suddenly the river narrowed. The steamer increased 
its speed; it rushed headlong toward a rocky ram^ 
part. In a moment it would be crushed against a wall 
of stone. But no! It swung to the left, barely escape 
ing the crash that would have meant destruction. 

Helen, standing beside Aunt Lou and watching 
from the deck, breathed a deep sigh of relief. This 
thrilling experience had been fun, but it was suffi' 
cient. 

Nevertheless, there was more of it at once. The 
steamer trembled, slackened. Then a whirl of swift 
white water caught it, hurled it toward a tiny island 
planted in mid'channel. 

“Why, oh why, doesn’t the captain guide us 
toward the left?” moaned Helen, goose flesh cover- 
ing her arms. 

“Because—” 

Aunt Lou did not need to finish the sentence. 
Helen looked left and saw a crag, high as the ship, 
jutting out to meet them. Upon its rough side a 
broken tree trunk lay upside down, looking for all 
the world as if some passing steamer had jarred it 



2o6 


North to Nome 


loose. Helen stretched out her arm. It seemed as 
though her fingers would touch that tree-crowned 
crag if she but leaned over just one more inch. 

White water churned within the narrow channel. 
The ship took the whirlpools calmly now that it had 
avoided the treacherous piles of rock set in mid- 
stream. 

Dan and Harry, off by themselves, had been 
thrilled by the quick, swift motion. 

“Why Five Fingers?” Dan repeated Harry’s ques¬ 
tion. “Because those rocky islands in the river look 
like the bony fingers of an outstretched hand. See? 
The shoreline is a thumb—yes, there are five fingers 
of land. I sure hope we can slip between them. For 
a minute I thought we would bump right into that 
last one.” 

“Hello, boys. How do you like the river?” It 
was the genial Mr. Sharpe. 

“Why, why, how did you get here?” stammered 
Harry in surprise. 

“Walked up the gangplank at White Horse.” 

“Are you going to Dawson?” 

“Perhaps beyond. I am inspecting mines all 
through this country. Usually I am very busy in 
my cabin, studying plans, but these rapids always 
draw me to the deck. Fine piece of scenery they 
are, a fine piece of scenery. Yet, how the pioneers 























Down to Dawson 


209 


of '98 hated them! I cannot say that I blame them, 
either. Those five fingers of rock spelled ruin to 
many a miner after he had worked like a slave to 
pack his belongings over the trail." 

“Tell us about it," begged Harry. 

“Just enough to give you an idea of what shoot" 
ing these rapids meant to the old sourdoughs," he 
agreed. “Once during the rush — it was in '99 — I 
saw a raft headed downstream toward these five 
fingers of sharp rock. It was loaded with flour, bed" 
ding, and a rocking chair. I can still see that chair 
sticking up on top of the load, proud as you please 
to be hauled up here to the Yukon. The owner 
would have made a fortune with his supplies if he 
had had good luck. 

“The raft made the smooth water easily enough. 
Then the current caught it, tossed it up against a 
steep sharp rock. Within an inch of destruction the 
angry water sei 2 ;ed it again, hurled it away from the 
threatening crags. But not for long was it safe. The 
freakish current sucked it into the wildest portion 
of the channel. It danced like a cra2,y thing between 
those two tall fingers of rock back there. But some" 
how, by a miracle I guess, it squee 2 ;ed through. 

“We who were on the shore cheered wildly, but 
we were too early with our hallelujahs. The treach" 
erous whirlpools right here spun that raft round and 



210 


North to Nome 


round until it reeled like a drunken man. Did you 
notice the wave that hit our steamer just now? Well, 
if our boat were a weak little raft, it probably would 
have pitched over.*” 

“Like the raft you saw?'' 

“Exactly like the raft I saw. First, the rocker 
tumbled off the top. Then the wild water crashed 
over the flour and the household supplies. The own¬ 
er clung to the wreckage until he realized what had 
happened. Then, I declare, he jumped right into the 
Yukon after his possessions. Probably he thought 
that he could salvage some of them. Of course, that 
was quite impossible in the wild water. Instead, he 
lost his life." 

“Gosh!" exclaimed Harry. “That was tough, espe¬ 
cially when he was so near his goal." 

“Yes, yes," agreed Mr. Sharpe. “But there were 
worse tragedies in Dawson; so perhaps it was best 
that he did not get there, after all." 



Chapter XIII 
YUKON GOLD 

Dawson! It was a name that stirred Dan’s spirit 
as he stood in the early morning dawn on the bridge 
of the ship, eagerly scanning the right bank of the 
Yukon. Soon he would see a mountain called the 
Dome, rising proudly behind the little town. That 
is, he would unless prospectors in their mad rush for 
the gold buried deep within its bulk had tom it down 
with snorting steam-shovels. 

Dawson! It was a name that raised Dan’s hopes 
sky-high. Here he would search every street, every 
house until he had word of his father. Surely the 
city could not be so big that one could not find a 
six-foot Irishman with hair the color of Skagway 
carrots. 

'Trobably Dad is off locating a rich mine,” he 
thought. ''We could stay up here every summer 
and—” 

Harry’s good morning put an end to the dream. 


2II 


212 


North to Nome 


“Are you looking for Dawson? It is over on the 
right bank.*” 

Together the boys watched the Dome come into 
view, now hacked and chopped by miners on their 
hunt for gold. When Dan looked away from the 
scarred hillside, he found Miss Turner standing be- 
hind him. 

“Well, Dan,’’ she said, looking cheerful. “Perhaps 
I can help you up here. I am an old-timer here, you 
know.” 

A modem taxi pulled up at the long wooden pier. 
It seemed out of place, but in a moment Lou Turner 
was in it beside Helen and the boys. 

Lou Turner found a new Dawson awaiting them. 
She saw at once that the town had shmnk to less 
than half its former sizie. There were no tents now, 
nor were scows or barges set up on dry land to serve 
as houses for miners’ families. Dawson was a sprawl¬ 
ing wild camp town no longer. In growing smaller 
it had acquired dignity. The comfortable houses 
assured visitors that the present home-owners had 
really come there to make their permanent homes. 
They would not leave in a month or a year to prove 
tales of new wealth a hundred miles away. 

How quiet the streets were on this July morning! 
There were people on the sidewalks, people chatting 
sociably before the post office, but their voices were 






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Yukon Gold 


215 


low and soft. There were no whoops or roars to 
torture ears as in the old days when men shouted 
and women shrieked down the length of the main 
street. The places of coarse entertainment were gone, 
and on their sites stood banks and stores and houses 
with blooming gardens. The twins liked these neat 
white houses, for although they promised snug com- 
fort during the long winter, they looked cool under 
the hot Arctic sun. 

The cab drew up before the Royal Alexandra 
Hotel. It was a modem building, but out in front 
there was a scene that in a flash took Lou Turner 
back to the early days. Merchants on vacation, min- 
ers, and visitors sat in a straggling line upon wooden 
chairs, swapping stories of rich strikes and the gay 
life of more than thirty years ago. 

On the Turners’ third day in Dawson, Mr. Sharpe 
called at the hotel. When he learned that Dan had 
not yet found his father, he suggested a trip up into 
the Klondike country. He explained that even today 
gold is found in this region, and many miners still 
hope to make a fortune there with pan and shovel. 

'1 have just come from my own claim up there,” 
he said. “Perhaps you youngsters would like to try 
your luck on it.” 

So, early in the afternoon, Dan and the Turners 
started off on a visit to modem gold fields. 



2i6 


North to Nome 


For some ten miles they sped along a good 
graveled road. On one side rose mountains; on the 
other flowed the Klondike River. In many places its 
main channel had been turned into false little creeks. 
Heaps of waste matter, which Mr. Sharpe called 
“tailings,"’ had been washed down from the mines 
so that these feeble streams were almost choked with 
pale gray mud. 

At Lovett Gulch Mr. Sharpe stopped the car. Be¬ 
fore them, he said, stood one of the largest hydraulic 
mining machines in the world. He pointed out huge 
no2,2;les aimed at the rugged hills. Thick streams of 
water spurted from them, tore at the rocks and 
soil of the high bluff. Chunks of the mountain were 
washed away; rocks crashed; the earth trembled. 
Caves formed; frail turrets of earth tumbled. Still 
the mighty force of the water continued its destruc¬ 
tion, ripping, tearing at the hillside until it tottered, 
trembled, fell in a squashy black heap. This soft soil 
was rich with ore. Later it would be dumped into 
big sluice boxes where a clear stream would disclose 
each tiny grain of gold. 

A few miles farther on they stopped again to 
watch a dredger working in the middle of a stream. 
It was thrilling to see the long traveling crane reach 
out into the bed of the stream, dig down into the 
earth, and scoop up a ton or more of slime, gravel, 




Hudson Historical Bureau 


Prospecting at Atlin 










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Yukon Gold 


219 


and gold. Helen wondered how anyone could ever 
find the precious bits of yellow metal in such a mucky 
mass of mud and water. She understood the process 
later when she saw the scoopings dumped into the 
sluice boxes. The gold was caught on sulphided 
coconut mats; the waste was washed away into an 
artificial stream. 

At noon Aunt Lou decided to make a stop for 
lunch at Paradise Hill. There was nothing heavenly 
about the place. Its dreary waste made Helen won- 
der why anyone would choose such a lovely name 
for such a barren spot. 

An exhausted group sat down to chicken sand¬ 
wiches and chocolate cake. Mining was fascinating, 
but climbing over the uneven ground was tiring. All 
through the morning Dan had kept a keen watch 
for figures working in the fields. The hope of finding 
a familiar form, the fear of missing it, had added to 
his weariness. 

After lunch everyone was refreshed and felt a 
renewed interest in the mining country. During the 
afternoon they continued the hunt for Dan’s father 
by visiting other spots where men were working 
upon the earth. It was four o’clock before the dis¬ 
appointed boy was willing to give up the search. 
At that time they had arrived on Mr. Sharpe’s 
claim. 



220 


North to Nome 


''’All out for the gold rush!"’ 

Mr. Sharpe’s magic words dispelled Dan’s gloom, 
and he became as excited as Harry. At once each 
boy was supplied with a shovel and a pan and be- 
came a gold seeker. 

"Where do we begin?” Harry was eager to start 
his strike. 

“Calm yourself, or you won’t have any energy 
left with which to dig,” advised Helen, laughingly. 

Harry was a sturdy lad, accustomed to hard prac^ 
tice on the football field. Today he used all his 
strength energetically turning over the stubborn 
earth. Helen took charge of the shallow pan, in 
which they were to wash the soil from the gold. As 
her brother dug, she quickly scooped up the loosened 
earth and searched it carefully for a touch of color. 
Dan staked his own claim some hundred feet away. 
So absorbed did the three become in their work that 
they scarcely heard Mr. Sharpe tell Aunt Lou: 

“There is mighty little of this pan-mining today. 
Because the golden grains are so small now, it is 
necessary to handle thousands of tons of earth to get 
a few hundred dollars. Few individual miners can 
afford to install the expensive machinery that is nec¬ 
essary. That is one reason why big companies, some 
of them with thousands of stockholders, have taken 
over the work. That is my business up here.” 
























Yukon Gold 


223 


Harry paused in his digging. “Then you're not 
a regular sourdough miner?" 

“Fm a sourdough, all right, for I have really lived 
up here, and in '99 I dug deep with the rest of them. 
I grew to love this country; so when I struck pay 
dirt, I went back to the United States and studied 
mining engineering. Now I act as technical adviser 
to a group of investors." 

“I knew you went to college!" said Harry, pleased 
with his observation. 

“There are a few old-timers up here who do not 
like us," continued Mr. Sharpe. “They remember 
the days when any man, by his own efforts, had a 
chance to win a fortune. They believe the large 
companies are driving the individuals out. I have 
found that ground which was sluiced and panned by 
them and given up as hopeless is now being worked 
at a profit by large companies using expensive ma¬ 
chinery." 

“I think people are lucky to have you up here," 
said Dan, who had abandoned his claim in order to 
listen to Mr. Sharpe. 

“We create wealth for the world and business for 
Dawson, even though we do destroy the scenery," 
and he made a wry face. 

Dan joined the Turner twins, who were again 
busily digging. As soon as the shallow pan was 



224 


North to Nome 


filled with earth, he carried it over to Bonan2;a Creek 
for Helen. There he shook water through the lumpy 
soil while she, with the aid of Mr. Sharpe, anxiously 
watched for specks of the yellow metal. Pan after 
pan, however, yielded nothing but disappointment, 
for all the sediment was gray mud. In spite of ap" 
parent failure Harry stuck to his hard job deter¬ 
minedly. The lure of gold-seeking was upon him. 
Perhaps the next shovelful would hold a fortune. 
Smiling, Mr. Sharpe watched him hard at work. 

''You know, we Americans owe the Klondike a 
debt.’' The miner continued his conversation with 
Lou Turner. "We should all be glad that gold was 
found here in Canada. Without that famous rush, 
perhaps the people at home would have paid little 
attention to Alaska.” 

"Yes,” agreed Aunt Lou. "Most persons never 
think of that.” 

Turning to Harry, Mr. Sharpe said, "Now you can 
see why we need big companies. Rarely is any gold 
found—” 

"Here’s a lump! Here’s a lump!” Harry was so 
excited that he could hardly call out his good news. 

"A lump of sugar?” teased his aunt. 

"No. A hunk of ore with yellow specks in it. 
Help me, somebody, to crack it up.” 

Each one lent a hand in whacking the hard lump 



Yukon Gold 


225 


that Harry set proudly upon the ground. Sticks 
and stones and shovel handles soon reduced it to 
course gravel in which were glints of gleaming color. 

Helen helped her brother gather the precious 
gravel into the pan. Then down to the river they 
all rushed. Harry washed the soil carefully, shaking 
the soft lumps of dirt, pouring off the muddy water. 
Dan was as thrilled as the twins when they picked 
out the yellow grains. 

''Pure gold,” said Harry happily. "Pure gold!” 



Chapter XIV 
THE MAGIC CIRCLE 

On his last day in Dawson, Harry set out to do 
a pleasant duty. For a week he had carried in his 
pocket a tiny poke half-filled with the coarse gold 
he had dug along the Klondike. At first he could 
not decide what he should do with it. It would be 
a wonderful souvenir of the trip; yet this precious 
little sack was a responsibility when several thou¬ 
sand miles of land and water lay between Dawson 
and California. So, at Dan’s suggestion, he stopped 
in at one of the local banks. 

It did not take long to transact his business. He 
handed his poke to a clerk, who shook the shining 
particles onto a little scale. Then he blew away all 
the dust and bits of dirt that hid among the golden 
grains. After he had made a few quick figures, he 
handed Harry half a dozen greenbacks. 

‘■‘’American money, please,” the boy requested. 

“Of course.” 


226 


The Magic Circle 


227 


It was as simple as that. Such business transac- 
tions are everyday affairs at Dawson banks. 

Harry glanced at the handful of notes. Then he 
went over to a table and counted them carefully. 

“Fifty, sixty, seventy-five!'’ 

Harry felt as though all the riches of the world 
were his. He tried to think of a treat fine enough 
for each one of those who had helped him find his 
gold. What could he get them? 

Back at the hotel Helen settled the question. 
“Clear your conscience with an ice-cream soda. We 
will all like that.’’ 

Dan felt as though an ice-cream soda could never 
cheer him, for no trace of his father had he found in 
all the country around Dawson. Mr. Sharpe advised 
him to continue his search in Alaska. 

“Very likely Mr. McCarthy is somewhere near 
one of the mining centers, such as Fairbanks, or even 
Nome,” he said. 

“That’s just where we’re going! Isn’t that fine!” 
exclaimed Harry, hoping to encourage his friend. 

Mr. Sharpe was at the wharf to see the party off 
for Fairbanks and intervening stops. It was fun to 
have someone wave from the pier and call, 
voyage^ just as though one were bound for distant 
ports. 

“If I find your father, I will wire at—” 



228 


North to Nome 


Mr. Sharpe’s last words were lost in the shrill 
blast of the ship’s whistle. He watched from the pier 
until the ship had passed the tiny Indian village of 
Moosehide. 

Farther downstream occasional log huts could be 
seen from the steamer, deserted log huts among the 
tangled growth on the banks. Their smokeless chim^ 
neys and barred windows made them look lonesome 
and forlorn. Perhaps in winter, when the ther^ 
mometer dropped to sixty degrees below 2,ero, they 
would furnish welcome shelter to stray prospectors. 

Along the banks as far as Fortymile there were 
muddy paths that were the places where otters had 
slid into the river. Often on the approach of the 
ship beavers stopped working on their dams, slapped 
the water with their broad tails, and dove out of 
sight. Muskrat homes of mud and sticks and grass 
dotted the shallow water. Frequently, on the shore, 
there were packs of dirtydooking hides from these 
animals, waiting to be cured and shipped outside 
where women would wear them pieced together into 
stylish coats. Above on the high rocks it was not 
unusual to see a brown bear cub staring down at the 
ship. 

Soon after Fortymile the ship carried its passengers 
back into United States territory. The Alaska-Yukon 
boundary can easily be seen, for it is marked by a 




Alaska Steamship Company 


An Alaskan Husky 


























4 



The Magic Circle 


231 


wide cleared strip through the woods, uphill and 
down. Here, as on the summit of the White Pass, 
the flags of the United States and Great Britain float 
side by side. Helen watched a guard haul down the 
American flag; it was the sunset hour. 

Now that it was early August, the days were grow' 
ing shorter again. In little more than a month they 
would only equal the nights. Then, as winter came 
on, each day would shrink until in December the 
sun would scarcely peep over the horizon. Helen 
shivered, thinking of the cold that would cover all 
this northern wonderland. 

In the late afternoon of the second day the steam^ 
er stopped for fuel logs. The few men living along 
this stretch of the river chop wood and sell it to the 
steamers. It is a lonely existence, for sometimes the 
nearest neighbor is forty miles away. No sooner 
had the steamer pulled near the shore than a line of 
wheelbarrows piled high with wood started from an 
oblong woodpile toward the river. 

While the steamer was taking on fuel, Dan and 
the twins made the most of their time at Woodchop' 
per Creek. Almost at once they were on land beside 
a dozen dogs that were lying in the sunshine, their 
master nearby. All of the animals were malemutes, 
magnificent specimens of the Alaskan dog. Helen 
liked Julia, who had a smiling face. 



232 


North to Nome 


“That’s the wolf in her,” explained Aunt Lou. 
“She is a lovely creature, but do not go too close.” 

“Isn’t it strange that none of the dogs has barked 
at us? I expected them to make a great racket.” 

“They are not physically able to bark,” replied 
her aunt. “That unusual lack of noise is quite natural 
and is also due to the wolf strain in them. Just wait 
until evening. Then you will hear them howl, like 
wolves.” 

The boys took a step closer to a beautiful tawny 
creature with a fine shaggy coat and gleaming yellow 
eyes. The animal jumped up, straining on his leash. 

“Down, Plato!” commanded his master. 

The wolf dog obeyed instantly. 

“Plato is not used to strangers,” the man explained. 
“We’ve been alone, mushing up in the interior, for 
more than a year, and he gets a mite excited when 
he sees new faces. He’s a fine lead dog, though. 
Saved my life once.” 

“He did!” Harry’s voice expressed both admira^ 
tion and curiosity. 

“Yes. It was in the winter when all the land was 
covered with ice and snow. I was on the way down 
to Fairbanks from Fort Yukon. The mercury stood 
at sixty below. There wasn’t any bli2;2;ard or any¬ 
thing like that; the trouble was a little germ floating 
about in the air.” 



The Magic Circle 


233 


“The flu?” asked Dan. He could just barely re¬ 
member the epidemic in Juneau. 

“Yes. Cut down the people like the plague. Well, 
I was out prospecting when I felt a terrible fever 
coming on. Funny thing was that I was shaking with 
chills at the same time that I was burning up with 
fever. Dosed myself with quinine, but it didn’t seem 
to do any good. Two days later I set off for Fair¬ 
banks, half-delirious. 

“I can’t remember much of that trip. Later friends 
in Fairbanks told me that Plato led the team right 
up to the doctor’s door. If you have never driven a 
team of lively huskies, you can never know just how 
hard a job that was for the lead dog to do all the 
guiding by himself. I’d . . I’d die for that dog!’’ 

And Harry, looking into the man’s eyes, believed 
him. 

The master of the dogteam walked off and in 
about a half-hour returned, carrying a basket of 
dried salmon. It was feeding time for the half¬ 
hundred huskies at Woodchopper Creek. If these 
dogs are fed in the morning, Harry learned, they 
will not work; so they are given one big meal at the 
end of the day. The man threw to each dog his 
daily ration of food, one whole dried fish weighing 
about three pounds. The malemutes snapped at the 
fish greedily. 



234 


North to Nome 


It was during the feeding hour that the fight com¬ 
menced between Big Ben and Little Charlie. Big 
Ben was a great brute covered with the scars of 
battle. His keen slant eyes roved restlessly over the 
dogs already devouring their meal. His attention at¬ 
tracted elsewhere for a moment, the master dropped 
Little Charlie's fish a foot too far to the right. In 
an instant Big Ben had pounced upon the salmon. 
But Little Charlie would not be cheated out of his 
dinner. For more than a minute dog fur flew in all 
directions. 

“Stop them! Stop them!" pleaded some woman 
tourists from the steamer. 

The master sternly cracked the whip hanging at 
his side. The malemutes crouched low. Little 
Charlie's intelligent eyes sought his master's face. 
Then he walked over to the fish and ate his dinner. 

Harry edged his way along the crowd until he 
was beside the master of the dogteam. He gathered 
all his courage and risked a question. 

“Do your dogs always obey you like that?" 

The master was a true Alaskan; he loved his dogs. 
Seldom did he miss an opportunity to talk about 
his huskies. Now that he had a new listener, he was 
eager to relate the virtues of his team. 

“Why, you don't know anything about Alaskan 
dogs until you own one. Often they bite and snarl 































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The Magic Circle 


237 


and tear one another's fur, but it isn't often that they 
will attack a human. Not if that human is kind and 
establishes his authority as master. The owner of a 
dogteam must be firm, for his huskies are close to 
the wolf and sometimes show their savage natures. 

“Will they bite? Well, that depends. None of 
my dogs has ever tried it, but never for one instant 
do I leave the whip out of my hand while driving. 
No, I really never use it on them, but the whip is 
the symbol of authority. I often crack it at them as 
a command. So far I have had no trouble in handling 
my team. Knowing dog nature is the most important 
thing. You get twice as much work out of your 
dogs if you study them and treat them fairly. Some^ 
times our animals are a bit playful, just like humans. 
But there is really no harm in a little roughhouse 
once in a while, is there?" 

“No, I suppose not," said Harry doubtfully. 

“Of course not. Why, we Alaskans in the in¬ 
terior would die without our dogs. In winter when 
the rivers free2;e and there's neither highway nor 
railroad within a thousand miles, our dogs furnish 
the only transportation we have. When we're miles 
away from all other human beings, they are our 
only companions. They risk their lives for us in 
times of storm or sickness. Why, I’d share my last 
bite with any one of them." 



238 


North to Nome 


Big Ben rubbed his nose against his master’s 
trouser leg. 

“Feel better now, old fellow?” Affection was in 
the master’s voice. 

The dog lifted a smiling face to the man, who 
stooped to pat his shaggy head. The malemute 
seemed to want to say, “I’m sorry I was rude at 
dinner.” 

A warning whistle called the passengers back to 
the steamer. On deck once more they could hear a 
long-drawn-out howl, like that of a wolf. 

“What’s that?” asked one timid tourist. 

The howl turned to a dismal wail that echoed 
down the river. A dogteam from another direction 
joined the weird chorus. It sent a shiver down 
Harry’s spine. 

“Why, that’s only the malemutes saying good¬ 
night,” answered Dan pleasantly. 

And so it was. 

The short Alaskan night brought misery to Helen 
Turner. Scarcely had she turned out the light than 
a loud humming and bu 2 , 2 ,ing filled the stateroom. 

“Ouch!” she cried a moment later. “Some dread¬ 
ful insect has stung my cheek. Oh, oh 1 Now it has 
bitten my nose!” 

Lou Turner switched on the electric light. She 
found the cabin filled with mosquitoes. They flew 



The Magic Circle 


239 


toward the bright electric bulb, leaving Helen time 
to nurse her swollen itching face. When witch ha2,el 
had relieved her distress, she did her best to chase 
the tormentors out the porthole. For half an hour 
she swatted and slapped her enemies. Then, deten 
mined to snatch some sleep before daylight, she 
snapped off the light. 

In less than five minutes the mosquitoes found her 
again. She was certain that these were a brand new 
lot, hungrier than the ones she had just chased 
away. Once more she tried to kill or drive them 
away, but it seemed impossible to rid the cabin of 
the pests. 

A double rap upon the cabin door interrupted 
her activity. 

“Here are your nets, ma’am,’' called a steward. 
“The mosquitoes are pretty bad tonight, with not a 
breath of breez^e out on the river.” 

Quickly Helen draped the nets around the berths. 
What a relief it was to be free from the stinging 
thrusts of her tormentors. She went to sleep with the 
sound of their monotonous humming in her ears. 

By the next morning the character of the coun¬ 
try had changed. The high bluffs and scarred hills 
that had been typical of Yukon River scenery had 
given way to miles and miles of flooded lowlands. 
The steamer appeared to be floating in a lake twenty 



240 


North to Nome 


miles wide. Yet the captain was compelled to steer 
a careful course for fear his ship might be stranded 
on a sandbar, for in many places the water was very 
shallow. Although millions of flooded acres gave the 
impression of a deep wide stream, the main channel 
was quite narrow. The danger of striking hidden 
shallows was always present. 

By noontime Dan and the young Turners were so 
excited that they left their lunch half finished. They 
flew from their own maps over to the ship s chart. 
They questioned the captain concerning the ship’s 
position. 

“So you are looking for the magic circle, too! ” 

“Of course we are. Captain,’’ said Helen. 

“Well, it certainly does give most folks a big thrill 
to look for that imaginary line. Rest easy, young 
lady, for we do not cross any lines at all until we 
come near Fort Yukon. You will find the circle well 
marked up there.’’ 

The captain’s words were true. When the ship 
was yet far off, Harry spied a round sign beside the 
river. With the aid of binoculars he could see two 
crossed flags painted on the signboard. On both 
flags there were the stars and stripes of American 
flags. Above the banners he traced the letters of a 
word. It began with A. The second letter looked 
like—yes, it was R. Of course! The word was 



The Magic Circle 


241 


ARCTIC. Beneath it he could see CIRCLE. 

In a little while the steamer stopped. Everyone 
got off to wade through the tall grass and read that 
magic sign. But Helen and Harry walked straight 
ahead. Hand in hand they crossed the Arctic Circle. 



Chapter XV 
A QUICK TRIP 

“Now I feel as though I were plunging right into 
the heart of Alaska,'' declared Harry Turner to his 
companions. They had left the river boat on which 
they had been traveling and were riding north from 
Nenana to Fairbanks on the crack train of the Alaska 
Railroad. 

“Your remark is very fitting," approved his aunt. 
“People up here often refer to Fairbanks as Alaska's 
golden heart." 

“Why golden?" 

“Because there's gold there, silly," said Helen. 

“Yes. That is one reason," agreed Aunt Lou. 
“However, the Fairbanks region is also rich in farm- 
lands. Most people back home do not reali2;e half 
of this district's possibilities. Some day when they 
get tired of being crowded into cities, they will come 
to this country and learn the truth for themselves. 
I have seen land in the farm belt of the States that 


242 


A Quick Trip 


243 


cannot compare with the fertile soil here. Besides, 
Fairbanks is the trading center for the interior of 
Alaska. Before the day is over, you will see what a 
lively place it is.’’ 

And that is just what they did see on that sunny 
Monday morning. The main street was bustling with 
business. Taxis were rushing over the dirt road. 
Trucks were carrying goods from river steamers to 
the warehouses. Miners in blue jeans were swinging 
along on the plank sidewalk on their way to work 
their claims up on the creeks. Uniformed sight-seeing 
conductors were urging tourists to visit the wonders 
of the Tanana Valley. Well-dressed business men 
were driving their cars to shop or office. 

''I had pictured Fairbanks as a tiny town in the 
middle of a wilderness, and here it is, busy as a city 
and in some ways modem, too,” stated Helen. 

“Of course it is,” agreed her aunt. “It is a clear¬ 
inghouse for the business of thousands of miles of 
territory in the Yukon River Basin. Shortly after 
our purchase of Alaska a concern that called itself 
the Alaska Commercial Company leased the seal 
islands and established a general fur-trading business 
at many points. One of these was at Fairbanks. It 
built up a big trade, which largely created the pros¬ 
perity of this lively town. 

“It was that same old Alaska Commercial Com- 



244 


North to Nome 


pany that originated and developed a transportation 
system for Alaska. With quick and safe trains there 
grew up an exchange of business which increased 
the profits of the people in this section by millions 
of dollars. 

“Later the Northern Commercial Company took 
over the affairs of the old firm, and today it handles 
enormous amounts of merchandise in order to supply 
the needs of roadhouses and mining-camps, as well as 
fur-trading stations, in interior Alaska. It owns 
stores, warehouses, waterworks, machine shops, 
foundries, and gas and electric plants. Since the cen¬ 
ter of the company's activities is here in Fairbanks, 
you can see that it is very important to the town and 
why the town is the trading cener of interior Alaska. 
Of course, there are several other trading companies, 
too, but they operate on a smaller scale." 

“Whew, Aunt Lou. You really said a lot that 
time. My head is spinning!" complained Harry. 

“Probably it will spin many more times before you 
comprehend all the wonders of Alaska," returned 
Aunt Lou good-naturedly. 

Harry and Dan, as usual, were eager to be off to 
inspect mines, shops, and power houses, but Helen 
was more interested in the homes of these northern 
people. She liked the snug log cabins with their 
green lawns and beautiful flowers. At first it seemed 



A Quick Trip 


245 


odd to see a fine new-model automobile standing 
outside a log cabin. 

''Such an odd combination of the old and the 
new,*” she remarked to Aunt Lou. 

"Yes. That seems to be a characteristic of Fair¬ 
banks. Probably if we could see within these homes, 
we would find furnaces, modem plumbing, and 
radios, too,’’ replied the older woman. 

Helen saw frame dwellings, too, solidly built to 
keep out the winter cold. She peeped into back¬ 
yards and found neat kitchen gardens where green 
peas, potatoes, lettuce, cauliflower, and tomatoes 
were thriving. 

One day on the main street Lou Turner and her 
companions were surprised to meet Mr. Sharpe. 

"I came down on the next boat,” he explained. 
"I just bought a mine up here for my bosses. I’ll 
show it to you if you like.” 

So that very afternoon Dan and the Turners went 
off an another mining expedition with Mr. Sharpe 
as their guide. 

Again hope rose high in Dan’s heart as they rode 
over smooth roads in their host’s hired car. The 
boy remembered that his father thought Fairbanks 
the richest gold-producing region in all Alaska. Rid¬ 
ing past high mounds of gravel, it was easy for him 
to believe that during the past fifty years eighty mil- 



246 


North to Nome 


lion dollars worth of gold had been taken from this 
district. His sharp eyes spied a dredger in the 
distance, and at once he was ready with a question. 

''Can anyone tell me why that dredger is over 
there? I always understood that placer mining was 
the popular method up here.” 

"It is,” agreed Mr. Sharpe, "but since there are 
cheaper coal and freight rates, a few companies have 
been organized to re-work the old mines with mod¬ 
em machinery.” 

Dan was disappointed in the gold field Mr. Sharpe 
had bought. He had expected to find earth that 
could be turned over with a shovel. Instead the sur¬ 
face of the ground was as hard and smooth as glass. 

"However can anyone dig here?” he asked, test¬ 
ing the soil with his heel. 

"By thawing the frozen ground to a depth of some 
two hundred feet,” Mr. Sharpe replied. "Up here 
they have equipment for that very thing. It consists 
of a boiler and pipe and hose. Of course, buckets and 
a cable upon which to hoist them are also necessary. 
You see, prospecting up here is more work than it 
is even down Dawson way.” 

Little by little the Turner group was learning all 
about the Great Country. 

One fine morning they explored the Tanana Val¬ 
ley to find the farmlands of the Arctic. It was a 









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A Quick Trip 


249 


beautiful ride through rolling foothills into the fer- 
tile valleys of the Tanana Basin. Under the bright 
summer sun the twins could scarcely realize that they 
were only about a hundred miles south of the Arctic 
Circle. The plains between the mountaintops were 
blanketed with wildflowers. Blueberry bushes grew 
thick among the trees of birch and spruce. 

Frequently they passed small farms that had been 
cut out of the forests by the work-worn hands of 
pioneers. Those firstcomers planted seeds and tended 
cattle and then left to nature the job of developing 
good crops and herds. Science and the government 
have come to the aid of present-day Alaskan farmers 
by building agricultural experiment stations to solve 
their problems. Lou Turner and her young friends 
came to such a station not far from Fairbanks. 

’’'This is where Uncle Sam’s agricultural experts 
test seeds and plants and experiment with animals 
to find those best adapted to this country,” she ex¬ 
plained. “The results of their work are available to 
anyone who will use them. Over there, at one end 
of the farm, is the Alaska Agricultural College. See 
the hothouses, bams, and cellars where grain and 
vegetables are stored during the winters? I have 
been told that this station uses more than twelve hun¬ 
dred acres for experimental purposes.” 

Upon seeing the many prosperous-looking home- 



250 


North to Nome 


steads’•in the country, Harry decided that Arctic 
farmers had taken advantage of the work done at 
the experiment station. The dairy cows were fat 
and fine; the vegetables, large and green and crisp. 

''Under these crops there is ice that never melts.’’ 

Aunt Lou’s statement sounded impossible. How 
could celery, carrots, melons, and fruit trees grow on 
top of ice? Lou Turner was amused at the amaze^ 
ment of the twins. To Dan this fact was not new. 

"It is the long summer days that make the crops 
ripen quickly,” she said. "Every tree and vegetable 
that gathers its nourishment from the topsoil thrives 
here. With plenty of sunlight and warm summer 
showers things simply jump up out of the ground.” 

"Does it rain very much up here?” asked Helen, 
recalling the frequent showers of southeastern 
Alaska. 

"Scarcely at all in winter. The snow is dry; the 
air snappy. That is why the people do not mind the 
keen cold. 

"Folks have good times up here during the cold 
season. These northern people are very sociable, and 
their long winter nights are filled with parties, dances, 
home-talent shows, and other fun, even in the tiny 
towns far from civilisation. Sometimes a man will 
drive his dogs miles over the snow to attend a dance 
in a country schoolhouse.” 



A Quick Trip 


251 


During their stop in Fairbanks Dan and the 
Turners shared some of this northern hospitality. 
They enjoyed especially the twilight picnics. 

So the days were crammed with interest, but they 
brought no trace of Mr. McCarthy. 

‘''We will return later,” said Lou Turner, trying 
to soften Dan’s disappointment. "For the present I 
have a little plan that will please you. Suppose we 
all take a quick trip down to Seward.” 

‘■‘'That’s grand of you. Miss Turner. Perhaps . . 
do you think my father might be down there?” 

‘■‘'We will find him if he is. In the meantime let 
us enjoy ourselves. If anything new develops here, 
we shall be informed at once.” 

The twins were keen for the plan when they 
learned that they would see Mt. McKinley on the 
return trip. 

‘■'It is Uncle Sam’s most northern national park,” 
volunteered Helen, "and it is the highest peak in 
North America besides.” She thought a moment. 
"I suppose that is why it is a national park.” 

"You are quite right, my dear, but I am sure you 
will find the ride down to Seward almost as intep 
esting as Mt. McKinley itself. We go through some 
of the most magnificent country in all Alaska.” 

"More beautiful than what we’ve seen?” She 
could not believe that could be possible. 



252 


North to Nome 


''Well, everyone has his own preferences in scen^ 
ery. However, there are few who will admit there 
is a finer ride for the money than that along the 
route of the Copper River Railway."” 

The day for their departure dawned bright and 
clear. At breakfast they said good-bye to Mr. Sharpe, 
who was going south to Juneau in a few days, and 
then promptly boarded the bus that provides trans¬ 
portation down the Richardson Trail. 

The first day was full of interest for everybody. 
The mountains were dark with spruce and fir. Moose 
and brown bears halted beside the road. Caribou 
and mountain sheep kept to the foothills, but it was 
exciting to watch for them as the automobile made 
the turns and twists along the fine graveled road. 

The first night on the trail they stopped to rest 
at a typical Alaskan roadhouse. Helen gave her 
aunt a look of swift surprise when she first heard 
the word. To her it meant a place of daring enter¬ 
tainment. Aunt Lou smiled; then she patiently told 
her niece that in Alaska a roadhouse is a hotel on 
the trail. 

They found this roadhouse a very proper place. 
The food was plain but wholesome, and all of it 
from roast to strawberries was raised right on the 
place. 

"Since the bus runs on the trail, we can get canned 



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A Quick Trip 


255 


goods from the outside, but we find that most tour¬ 
ists prefer the fresh fruit and vegetables that we 
grow right here,’’ the proprietor’s wife explained. 
“Of course, in winter we eat out of the can, but it 
is mostly what we have raised ourselves and pre¬ 
served in the summer when the crop is choice.” 

By the following noon they reached Chitina, 
where the Richardson Trail joins the Copper River 
Railway. There is romance around those rails of 
steel that appeals to the imagination. The richest 
copper mines in the world are right beside the rail¬ 
road. From the coach windows anyone can see tall 
glaciers glitter in the summer sun. 

When Harry saw the mines at Kennecott, he was 
puzTiled. “I thought gold was Alaska’s chief mineral 
product,” he confided to his aunt. 

“Perhaps there is more gold mined than anything 
else,” she informed him, “but the copper deposits in 
this vicinity are very, very rich. Although gold 
mines are still the most numerous up here, some 
day Alaska may become just as famous for her 
copper.” 

“So that’s the reason this is called the Copper 
River Railway,” said Dan. “I suppose it was built 
especially to bring the copper down to the ships 
at sea.” 

“Correct, young man. However, there is more 



256 


North to Nome 


than copper mines of interest along this railroad.” 

Before mid-afternoon they faced the mighty Miles 
Glacier. The train stopped for about an hour so 
that all the passengers might see this wonder. 

“Why, this one looks like a giant white electric 
bulb,” exclaimed Helen in surprise. 

They were standing upon a glacial moraine on 
the bank of a milkwhite river. This tumbling stream 
washed the ice-wall, sweeping away pieces of rough 
ice. 

“Don’t you want to go right on up to the top, 
boys?” asked Helen. 

“No, thank you. Not today,” replied her brother, 
recalling his experience on the Mendenhall Glacier 
outside of Juneau. 

Suddenly there was a loud cracking that sounded 
like the sharp report of heavy guns. Then a chunk 
of crystahclear ice, perhaps ten tons in weight, tore 
loose from the glacier. For an instant it hung there, 
balanced upon a sharp white pinnacle. It tottered, 
plunged with a roar into the foaming river. After 
the spray had cleared, those watching could see the 
huge block of ice careening cra2;ily in the waves of 
the swift river. 

The travelers saw Cordova through a veil of mist. 
The unpaved street was a river of slush; the wooden 
buildings in the town were desolate. 



A Quick Trip 


257 


“It doesn’t look like the pictures of its Spanish 
namesake,” remarked Helen as the town’s best car 
took them to the steamer tied up to the wooden 
wharf. “I expected the place to be bright and 
sunny.” 

“Remember, Helen, you cannot do any town jus- 
tice when you rush through it in this fashion,” her 
aunt warned her. 

“It’s a pity the ship won’t wait a day, but I sup¬ 
pose we are fortunate to make such good steamship 
connections for Seward.” 

On the ship bound for Seward Harry often 
thought of his Thlinkit friends. He wondered if 
Little Raven and Sparkling Water had come to the 
Seward Peninsula this summer to hunt and fish as 
was their custom. Perhaps even now they were at 
their summer camp not many miles away. He hung 
over the rail, recalling the hunting and the fishing 
trips he had enjoyed down in Ketchikan. 

The city of Seward turned out to be a big sur¬ 
prise. Right down in the heart of the business 
district Dan and the twins found children walking 
barefoot. 

“Don’t you get cold doing that up here in Alas¬ 
ka?” Helen later asked a towheaded girl with whom 
she became acquainted. 

“Oh, no! It is so warm up here most of the time 



258 


North to Nome 


in summer that we like to take off our shoes and 
stockings. We go swimming, too, in Lowell Creek.'' 

''But in winter?" Helen insisted. "Aren't the win- 
ters freeziing?" 

"The bay never free2;es, not even during the cold¬ 
est weather. Besides, my dad says he came up here 
to get warm. In the States where we lived it was 
very cold." 

The girl's fourteen-year-old brother could not hold 
his tongue a minute longer. He was brimful of in¬ 
formation; eager to share it with the visitors. "As 
Sis says, it never gets very cold up here. The mer¬ 
cury seldom falls below thirty degrees. That's why 
you see so many tent homes about in the suburbs. 
I suppose that's why we are important." He stopped 
and thought a minute. "Ships can come into the 
bay all year round. Our fine harbor would do us 
little good if it were locked with ice for half the 
year." 

"It would not be very important then," agreed 
Lou Turner. "Tell me, what do you people send out 
in the ships that come into this beautiful harbor?" 

"Don't you know?" The boy looked pained at 
the ignorance of this visitor from the outside. "Why, 
the mountains back there are full of minerals and 
coal. Farms to the north, up Anchorage way and in 
the Matanuska Valley, are flourishing. Some day 










































































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A Quick Trip 


261 


there will be a million people in Alaska. Then Seward 
will be the biggest city in the whole country.'’ 

''These Alaskans certainly are boosters," thought 
Harry. "Almost as much so as Californians. Pen 
haps he's right, though; Alaska is the Great Coun¬ 
try." 

The Alaskan boy was speaking again. "Be sure to 
climb up the mountain back of the city. From there 
you can see everything." 

They followed the lad's advice. The first hundred 
steps up the steep mountainside were the hardest. 
Everybody's feet sank deep into the thick moss that 
spread over the rough mountain. Tiny trees and 
dense ferns, tangled vines and berry bushes tried to 
trip the explorers. 

"Whew! Is this a jungle!" panted Dan. 

The view repaid them well for their hard climb. 
They stood upon a ledge five hundred feet above 
the waters of Resurrection Bay. Beyond the ships 
at anchor in the landlocked harbor, they could see 
the steep-sided islands that keep the wild water from 
the deep and peaceful bay. Even Lou Turner, who 
had seen many of the world's most beautiful ports, 
marveled at the combination of grassy lowlands and 
glacier-clad mountainsides. The sparkling blue water 
at their feet suggested tropic seas; the glistening 
white peaks across the inlet presented Arctic beauty 



262 


North to Nome 


at its best. Sliding down the hillside back to town 
they all agreed with the Alaskan boy that Seward 
is a very wonderful town. 

“What do we do today, Aunt Lou?'’ asked Harry 
the next morning at breakfast. 

“I have a surprise for you. You have heard of 
Alaska as it was in the old days and have seen much 
of it as it is today. Now we are going to see a part 
of Alaska that may indicate its future." 

“Do you mean the government colony in the 
Matanuska Valley, Miss Turner?" inquired Dan en¬ 
thusiastically. “Ld like to see that." 

“I want to learn about that, too, Dan; so let's go." 

“What do you mean, government colony?" Helen 
wanted to know. 

“First of all," explained Aunt Lou, “the govern¬ 
ment acquired many hundreds of miles in the fertile 
Matanuska Valley. Then it selected a number of 
families that were having a hard time financially on 
worn-out farms in states having about the same 
climate as we find here. It gave them their trans¬ 
portation to Alaska and loaned them money to sup¬ 
ply their needs until they had a chance to get estab¬ 
lished. Now those families are creating new homes 
in this country." 

“Streamlined pioneers," was Helen's comment. 

Shortly afterward the four were on a train that 



A Quick Trip 


263 


carried them between forested flower^spotted moun- 
tains and turquoise glaciers that crowded right down 
to the tracks. 

“How can one farm mountains and glaciers?'' 
Harry wondered. 

The narrow canyon gradually widened until at 
Palmer, little more than a hundred miles north of 
Seward, they stepped from the train to find them- 
selves in the heart of a vast green plain dreaming in 
the sunshine. Before them a tiny new settlement 
nestled in a valley that is shaded by woods of birch 
and spruce and hemlock. The valley stretches off in 
the distance until it merges with purple mountains 
capped with snow. 

“Let's walk around and see the town and maybe 
we can find someone to tell us about it," suggested 
Aunt Lou. 

Unlike other spots they had visited, here every- 
thing was new. The station was clean and modem. 
Aunt Lou and Helen, with Harry and Dan behind, 
followed the neat graveled walks that connected the 
buildings around the community square they found 
directly in front of them. On two sides of this park¬ 
way they saw two-story stmctures, spick-and-span 
in cream-colored paint. From signs on their fronts 
they learned that these were the Administration 
Building, the Community Playhouse, and the Audi- 



264 


North to Nome 


torium. There were also a dormitory, hospital, trad- 
ing post, post office, and the finest elementary school 
in all Alaska. Grouped together on another side 
were machine shops, a cold-storage plant, a cream¬ 
ery, and the municipal power plant. 

One path led across the railroad tracks. There 
Lou Turner and her companions found a street of 
privately owned restaurants, refreshment parlors, 
shops, and the newspaper office. These, housed in 
hapha2iard shacks like those seen in old boom towns, 
were in sharp contrast to the substantial government- 
owned buildings on the square. 

Lou Turner stepped within the newspaper office 
and found a friendly young man busy at a typewriter. 

''Good morning,'' she greeted him. "My young 
companions and I have come to learn about and see 
something of this settlement. Could you tell me if 
there is any place where we could hire a car to take 
us about the country a little?" 

"There is a taxi stand down the street, ma'am, but 
I happen to have to deliver a message out at one of 
the farms and I'll be glad to have you and your party 
go along with me." 

"Thank you. That will be very nice." Lou Turner 
accepted, thinking this young man would be an in¬ 
teresting source of information. She was not dis¬ 
appointed. 



A Quick Trip 


265 


The young man pulled the paper out of the type- 
writer, folded it, and placed it in his pocket. 

'“''All ready,” he announced, leading the way out¬ 
side. 

The three young tourists filled the back seat. Lou 
Turner rode beside the driver. 

“This colony is very interesting to us outsiders,” 
she commented. “Have you been here long?” 

“Almost since the beginning. When I arrived, the 
depot was a box car, there were only a couple of 
log shacks, and about two hundred tents squatted in 
a sea of mud. The surrounding plain was wilder¬ 
ness. 

“Those first days in Alaska were hard and uncer¬ 
tain ones for the colonists. They found awaiting 
them only the temporary inadequate shelter of the 
tents and very few supplies. Then there followed 
discouraging delays of both supplies and equipment. 
The short summer season loomed up before them as 
very short indeed in the prospect of a long winter 
coming on and no houses started.” 

“Certainly a lot has been accomplished.” Lou 
Turner noticed the fine graveled highway down 
which they were riding, and the farm plots beside 
it, each one with cultivated acres, livestock, barns, 
and a small but comfortable dwelling. 

“You know, the colony is scattered over more than 



266 


North to Nome 


ten thousand acres,'' the reporter went on. ''When 
these colonists were selected, they were warned that 
they might find it lonely up here. Do you notice 
how the houses are located on the farms? Each one 
is placed so that its occupants can see the homes of 
at least two other families." 

"How thoughtful," replied Miss Turner. "And 
could each colonist choose the piece of land he 
wanted?" 

"No. The farm plots were distributed by lot. A 
government official held a hat full of numbers. The 
man of each family drew a number and that decided 
which plot was to be his." 

The newspaper man turned into a roadway lead¬ 
ing to a plain frame bungalow. A pleasant strong¬ 
looking young woman came outside to see who was 
approaching. 

"Hello, Elsie," the reporter called to her. "Here’s 
a message for George. This is Miss Turner and her 
companions, who came to see our settlement." 

"It's a mighty fine place," approved Elsie, civic 
pride in her voice. 

"You like it here?" encouraged Aunt Lou. 

"When George and I think of the drought, and 
the farm that blew away from us down in the States, 
and then look at the rich loam on our farm here, 
we are content. Of course, it is very hard work, but 



A Quick Trip 


267 


it was hard work where we came from, too, and 
here we feel that we have a chance to succeed/' 

"'’Your place looks prosperous," complimented 
Aunt Lou. '’‘’Was it partly cleared before you came?" 

‘’"Oh, no! Even the spot that we are standing on 
was covered with old trees and virgin wilderness. 
We cut down the trees ourselves and pulled the moss 
off the topsoil. Then we hired from the government 
a tractor and operator, who easily pulled the stumps 
from the earth and completed the clearing. Other 
rented government machinery plowed and harrowed 
the land and finally operated the grain drill that 
seeded the prepared soil. Why, one of those big 
machines can do as much work in an hour as George 
can do in weeks. The season is short here; so there 
is no time to lose. But whenever we can, we do our 
own work. We even built our own house. We want 
to keep our debt as small as possible." 

""Well, Fve got to be getting back, Elsie. Tell 
George to stop in when he comes to town." 

""I will. Good-bye." 

""A good woman, that Elsie," the reporter volun^ 
teered on the way back to town. ""She’s a worker. 
Helps as much as she can on the farm and besides 
puts up hundreds of cans of vegetables, fish, chicken, 
game, and fruits that she gathers on the unculti¬ 
vated acres. She and her husband sell whatever sur- 



268 


North to Nome 


plus they have. They buy very little at the stores, 
for, as she said, they want to keep their debt as low 
as possible.'’ 

“Those debts,” inquired Aunt Lou. “Are they 
tremendously large?” 

“Some are, and some aren’t. Those of ambitious 
people like George and Elsie are quite small. Here, 
like everywhere else, some people are thrifty and 
others aren’t. Some will succeed while others fail. 
Elsie and her husband already have begun to pay 
off the debt on their property. They have the real 
pioneering spirit.” 

Lou Turner and her travelers left newborn Palmer 
with the feeling that they had seen a section of 
wilderness being turned into snug homesteads by 
brave young families who believe that here by hon- 
est work they can make a go of things. 

When in the late afternoon they arrived back at 
the hotel, the desk clerk had a message for Dan. 

“A wire! From Mr. Sharpe!” he exclaimed. 

He handed the yellow slip to Lou Turner. She 
read: 

LOOK FOR MR. MG CARTHY IN NOME. 

Sharpe 



Chapter XVI 

THE MOST HIGH MOUNTAIN 

Harry Turner pressed his face close to the wide 
windowpane of the comfortable observation car. 
The train flashed through wilderness formerly trav¬ 
eled only by pack-horse, wagon, or dog sled. Never¬ 
theless he scowled at the forest that followed the 
track and wished for the wide valleys he had passed 
in the early afternoon. Then across green fields he 
had seen sharp peaks that cut the sky. Now that 
they had come an hour closer to the mountains, he 
could see nothing at all but the tall trees that hemmed 
them in on both sides. Somewhere behind that green 
wall Mt. McKinley towered toward the sky for 
more than twenty thousand feet! 

Helen was thrilled at the thought of seeing the 
Most High Mountain. 

''’You know,” she said, warming to her subject, 
''nobody really climbed that mountain until 1910—” 

"When a party of mining prospectors climbed to 

269 


270 


North to Nome 


the north peak,'' finished Dan. “My father has often 
told me about that trip. He was up in Fairbanks at 
the time and knew Tom Lloyd, the leader of the 
party." 

“He did! It must have been a long hard trip. 
Please tell us about it." 

“Well, I don't remember everything, but I do 
know that they made the last mile of the climb 
crawling over the glare ice with irons strapped to 
their moccasins and hooked poles in their hands. It 
is a pity, though, that after so much effort and suf- 
fering in the cold that they did not reach the highest 
peak. Three years later, in 1913, Archdeacon Stuck 
climbed to the tiptop of the south peak, which is 
higher than the north side. I remember it took them 
fifty days to go up but only two to come down." 

“The thirteen in the year did not bring them bad 
luck." 

“Of course not! I don't believe in such silly 
superstitions. Do you?" 

Before Helen could reply, the train had halted 
at Mt. McKinley Station. In a minute all of them 
were off the train, facing that high mountain of 
rock and ice called McKinley. 

“It is like a giant diamond that has been cut and 
polished until it sparkles," said Helen as soon as she 
could find her voice. 








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“It’s better than that,” declared Harry. “Besides, 
it’s the highest peak I have ever seen.” 

“It is just about the highest peak that any tourist 
can look up to.” Lou Turner contributed her bit 
of information. 

“Oh, no, it can’t be.” Helen did not like to contra- 
diet her aunt but she was sure of her facts. “I learned 
in school that Mt. Everest in the Himalayas in Asia 
has the highest elevation of any peak in the world.” 

“So it has,” agreed Aunt Lou. “But no other 
mountain rises so abruptly from its base, or rises 
higher above its surrounding country, than Mt. 
McKinley.” 

“You sound like my teacher. Miss Sanders,” said 
Helen, “but I do see what you mean. Mt. Everest 
really is higher, but because we are so near sea level 
here, we have to look up higher to see the top of 
Mt. McKinley.” 

“A passenger on the train told me that this moun¬ 
tain rises straight up for almost four miles,” repeated 
Harry, trying to fit the words to the scene before 
him. 

The mountain’s rugged grandeur was all the more 
impressive because there was no peak near to dwarf 
its massive height. 

A limousine carried Lou Turner and her young 
guests through forest and fertile valleys until they 



North to Nome 


274 

reached a hotel at the foot of the mountain. All 
four were ready for dinner. Afterward Harry, not 
liking to waste the two remaining hours of daylight, 
half-heartedly suggested a walk. 

''There might be snakes,’' objected his sister. 

"Snakes? Don’t you know there aren’t any in all 
Alaska?” 

"He’s right,” confirmed Dan. "I’ve heard my dad 
say many times that there is nothing poisonous in 
all the Great Country.” 

"I think I shall just sit here on the porch and 
enjoy the beauty around me,” said Lou Turner. 

"And I think I shall go over and visit the bear,” 
stated Helen. 

Like many other hotels and restaurants, this one 
had a tame brown bear cub. Harry and Dan and 
Helen walked over to where it was chained to a 
stake on the lawn. 

"I’d like to find a bear cub,” said Dan, "and bring 
it up as a pet. I’d teach it to do tricks.” 

"I wonder if this one can,” considered Helen. 

"We’ll see.” 

Harry reached into his pocket, produced a bit of 
chocolate, and held it toward the bear. The cub 
sat up on his hind legs and begged. 

"I’m going to get something for him, too,” cried 
Helen, running off. 










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The Most High Mountain 


277 


In a minute she was back with a bottle of soda 
pop, which she handed to the pet. The cub was 
delighted. He held the bottle with both front paws, 
put the whole neck of it into his mouth, and drained 
it in almost one gulp. 

The next morning there was just time enough for 
an expedition into Mt. McKinley National Park. For 
this Lou Turner and her guests donned riding 
clothes, mounted horses, and ambled along trails 
newly cut through wilderness that led to the very 
base of Mt. McKinley. They saw rich green valleys, 
beautiful woods, waterfalls, rushing streams, and 
mighty glaciers clinging to mountainsides. Sharp 
eyes spied many wild animals—^Alaskan brown bears, 
American reindeer, moose, white mountain sheep, 
foxes, rabbits, and Dan thought he saw a lynx. 

When last the travelers looked upon Mt. McKin¬ 
ley, it was from the observation platform of a train 
carrying them north again. The sun was shining 
brightly on the towering snow-capped peak. The 
Turners were sorry to leave the Most High Moun¬ 
tain, but Dan was glad to be on the way to Nome. 

At Nenana the group left the train and once more 
boarded a river boat headed downstream on the 
Yukon. The days passed slowly on the now slug¬ 
gish river, but the ship was a faithful plodder and 
in due time the travelers steamed past desolate 



278 


North to Nome 


swampy lowlands, past Indian villages, and tiny ham- 
lets where not one white man lived. One day on 
deck Helen went to Lou Turner seeking information. 

“How many kinds of Alaskans are there?” she 
asked. “The white people up here call themselves 
Alaskans. Down in Ketchikan you said that the 
Thlinkit Indians are natives of the country. This 
morning Harry tried to tell me that the Eskimos 
are Alaskans, too.” 

“You have forgotten the Aleuts and the Hydahs,” 
said her aunt. 

“Are they Alaskans?” 

“Every one of them. Don't frown so; you will 
make wrinkles all over your forehead. It is really 
quite easy to understand the division of native races 
if you remember that most of the original Alaskans 
are Indians, divided into several main tribes.” 

“Our friends the Thlinkits are one of these 
tribes?” 

“Yes, and a very important part of the native 
population. Then there are the Hydah Indians, who 
are really a sort of second cousin to them.” 

“But what about the Eskimos?” questioned Helen. 

“They are quite a different stock from the real 
Indians although probably all the native races in 
Alaska came over from Asia thousands of years 
ago. The Aleuts, who live mostly in the Aleutian 



The Most High Mountain 


27 Q 


Islands to the west, are related to the Eskimos so 
that for convenience you may call them cousins/’ 

''Now I am really beginning to understand these 
Alaskans. Of course, I know that the white people 
in the territory have come from the United States.” 

"Most of them have, Helen, but a number have 
come here from Europe, chiefly from the northern 
countries, like Norway and Sweden.” 

"When will we begin to see Eskimos? I have been 
looking for them ever since we touched the Arctic 
Circle, but so far I haven’t seen a single one! ” 

"And you probably will not get so much as a peep 
of an Eskimo before we reach the island of St. 
Michael out in Norton Sound.” 

"Who said Eskimo?” called Harry as he joined his 
aunt and sister. 

"We did. Don’t you want to see them, too?” 

"Of course I do! I suppose we’ll see thousands 
of them around Nome.” 

"Wrong this time, my dear nephew. In all Alaska 
there are likely few more than ten thousand Es" 
kimos.” 

"Sure?” 

"Absolutely.” 

"I always supposed Eskimos sort of ran wild all 
over the land up north.” 

"The Eskimos are not wild, nor do they swarm 



28 o 


North to Nome 


over the country, but I can guarantee that you will 
find them most interesting/’ 

Then the conversation turned to Dan and his 
plans. 

''Does he still insist on staying in Nome while we 
go north to see the Eskimos?” asked Helen. 

"Yes,” her aunt replied, "and I think it is the 
best plan because it is possible that his father is in 
Nome right now.” 

"Well, I wish he would come with us,” declared 
Harry. "He’s fun.” 

"Think how terrible it would be if he did come 
with us and then later we found that he had missed 
his father because of it.” Helen approved of Dan’s 
plan. 

"I know, but it is grand to have a fellow like Dan 
along,” replied her brother. "Say, I don’t think you 
object much to his company yourself!” 

"Of course not. But you—” 

"Do not argue like that among the Eskimos,” 
warned Aunt Lou, "or you will astonish them very 
much. Eskimo children are the bestmatured young- 
sters in the world. They are always smiling and they 
never quarrel.” 

"Lesson Number One for us, Harry. I see we’ll 
have to become model twins before we meet the 
Eskimos.” 



Chapter XVII 
AMONG THE ESKIMOS 

The umiak creeping along the bright green water 
of the bay swayed and rolled. White-crested waves 
pelted the skin sides of the native boat until it wah 
lowed in deep troughs between the curling breakers. 
A dash of salty spray swept across the bow, drench¬ 
ing an Eskimo mother, who, even in the cramped 
quarters of the open skin boat, was busy cooking 
fish for a late breakfast. 

Old Tanskirk, steering at the stem, gave a quick 
command. Sails were lowered, and the umiak ceased 
to toss on top of the water like a bobbing cork. 

Helen Turner sank back beneath her reindeer 
skins with a thankful sigh. She was able now to 
watch the fat little Eskimo babies tumble about the 
bottom of the boat. Little Ketchup, the fur-trader s 
son, was trying to roll a ball between his father's 
legs while roly-poly Kukuk was making up a new 
game with his dog. In these crowded quarters neither 


281 


282 


North to Nome 


of the children could make much progress in their 
play. The ball soon landed in the soup pot, and big 
brother had to fish it out quickly so that it would 
not spoil the bubbling mass inside. 

Helen watched the men pull the paddles in per¬ 
fect rhythm. One, two; one, two. She could not 
hear them count aloud; yet somehow they managed 
to keep perfect time. 

It seemed hours since they all had breakfast back 
in Nome. She wished now that Dan had come with 
Harry and Aunt Lou and her. Perhaps he could 
have explained how the Eskimos made these clever 
hide boats that can carry great loads without turning 
over in the rough gray water of the Bering Sea. 
But Dan had stayed in Nome, hoping to find his 
father. 

When the umiak reached the quieter waters .of 
the bay, it headed into a little river, bound for the 
land of the Eskimos. 

The Turners had company of every kind with 
them in the skin boat. Two huge wolf hounds shared 
a rough board bench with Ketchup’s mother. Cook¬ 
ing pots and provisions, clothes and seal-oil containers 
cluttered up the bottom of the umiak. Helen hitched 
her feet up on a bundle of winter furs so that the 
small children might have more room for their ball 
game. 



Among the Eskimos 


283 


It was close to twelve o’clock when the boat head¬ 
ed toward a tiny rocky beach over on the left bank. 
Harry could see no igloos along the shore but he 
could not possibly ask a question now when every¬ 
one was busy gathering up belongings. Then he 
sighted a sod roof with only half a wall beneath it. 
Why, he could touch the roof with his fingers with¬ 
out standing on tiptoe! 

Helen was not interested in houses now that peo¬ 
ple had gathered on the beach. Brown, round peo¬ 
ple they were with smiling faces and very red lips 
that parted to show white, flashing teeth. 

But on the edge of the little native gathering, 
stood a slender graceful woman with the kind of 
golden hair one reads about in story-books. The 
woman on the beach was waiting for someone. Why, 
she was waving at them. And Aunt Lou was return¬ 
ing the greeting I 

It took less than ten minutes to reach the sitting 
room of the fair-haired Mrs. Chandler. The par¬ 
sonage attached to the Mission School was tiny, but 
to the Turners, sitting in home-made rockers, it 
looked very comfortable. 

It seemed as though the missionary’s wife would 
never finish asking questions of Aunt Lou. Had San 
Francisco changed much during the past six years? 
What did the two new bridges look like? So Lou 



284 


North to Nome 


Turner told Mary Chandler of the many changes 
that had taken place in California since she and her 
husband had shut themselves up in the North to 
care for the bodies and souls of a hundred Eskimos. 

While the two women talked of familiar places, 
Helen and Harry slipped out to explore the village. 
As they walked past log cabins and the log school" 
house, Helen's mind was on igloos. Didn't all Eskh 
mos live in those strange houses of ice? 

“But they really couldn't live that way here," she 
reasoned, “for in this warm weather ice would melt 
rapidly, and an igloo would soon be a mud puddle." 

If Harry was puzzded by the natives' houses, he 
did not show it. He strolled among the log cabins, 
very much at home. 

Helen made no comment upon the thick log 
houses though she looked carefully at these simple 
dwellings of the brown people of the North. She 
wondered how a family of five managed to cook and 
sew and eat and sleep in a hut not more than ten by 
twelve feet. 

“So this is how the Eskimos live!" Harry finally 
found words to express his astonishment. “I always 
thought they sat in front of their igloos in warm 
weather, trying to keep cool!" 

“I'm glad you got fooled, too," said Helen. “I 
thought you would laugh if I asked any questions." 



Among the Eskimos 


285 


'Tou know me better than that. Come on, let's 
find out about these Eskimos." 

It was the Turner twins who brought Mr. Chand- 
ler home to dinner. They met him just after he 
had dismissed his last patient for the day. 

“I did not know you were a doctor, sir," said 
Harry. 

“Let me tell you a secret," confided Mr. Chandler. 
“Up here in these out-ofithe-way places a missionary 
must take care of the bodies and minds, as well as 
the souls, of his people. He must be able to do many 
things. For instance, when I first lived here, I was 
the only teacher this side of Nome. Now we have 
trained the native children so well that one of our 
own boys is a teacher in the Government School. 

“No, I am not really a licensed physician although 
I did take a thorough course in first-aid. This last 
patient was an emergency. A little boy fell and 
gashed his forehead. Most people merely come for 
medicines which I have the authority to distribute." 

Lou Turner made arrangements to return to Nome 
the next day, but pretty little Mrs. Chandler begged 
her to stay. 

“It is such a pleasure to have you. You can never 
know what it means to see someone from the States 
when you are away up here. Of course, we love our 
work, but home^folks like you are a real treat." 



286 


North to Nome 


So the Turners unpacked their bags and settled 
down to enjoy life in the village. Every hour was 
filled with interest. One day they went to visit 
Kyana's family. 

It was a happy event in the Eskimo household 
when the white visitors came to call. The very best 
packing box was turned into a seat for the welcome 
guests. The brown hostess, much impressed by the 
honor that had been paid her by the white-man 
guests, served refreshments of dried salmon and con- 
densed milk. 

When Helen politely sipped the thick white 
liquid, she studied each detail of the Eskimo woman's 
features. She noticed that, like the Thlinkits, this 
native woman had straight black hair and eyes that 
were almost almond-shaped. Her skin was copper- 
colored, and her fat face had a flat little nose. 

After refreshments the Eskimo mother proudly 
produced her children and her sewing. Two shy lit¬ 
tle dumpling figures tried to hide behind their moth¬ 
er’s calico parka. When, after some encouragement, 
they peeped at the strangers, Helen thought them 
the sweetest, rosiest, roundest babies she had ever 
seen. They looked like big fu2:,2;y balls, bundled as 
they were in layers of soft fur. Presently their 
mother sat down with her sewing. With deft fingers 
she fastened threads of caribou sinew. 




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Among the Eskimos 


“Whatever is she making?’' Helen softly asked 
her aunt. 

“It’s a pair of mukluks for winter.” Mrs. Chandler 
answered Helen’s question; then, smiling at the Es¬ 
kimo woman, added, “They are very beautiful.” 

“Yes—mukluks—^winter,” the native agreed in her 
halting English. 

“What on earth are mukluks?” Helen was eager 
to satisfy her curiosity. 

“They are fur boots which keep the feet from 
free2;ing in the winter. They are soft and warm and 
comfortable.” 

“Something like high Indian moccasins. I’d say,” 
Harry added. “I’d sure like a pair of them. They 
look dandy.” 

The Eskimo woman smiled at the boy. “Maybe— 
make some—by ’m by. All summer busy making 
parka. This one I wear is for long sunshine. For 
dark days make all fur inside.” 

She encouraged the twins to examine her fur- 
trimmed calico blouse. It was a very strange kind of 
blouse, falling almost to the knees. 

“See, here is the hood,” explained Mrs. Chandler. 

The Eskimo mother, proud of the attention that 
the white strangers were paying her, trotted over to 
a packing box that served as a trunk. From this 
homemade chest she took many winter garments. 



290 


North to Nome 


Helen praised the unusual clothing. ''Why, in 
California you would have to pay hundreds of dol¬ 
lars for all these fur things,’' she declared. "Down 
there they are luxuries, but up here, where it gets so 
cold in winter, I do suppose they are necessary.” 

"They are!” Mrs. Chandler agreed with her. 

"What funny fur!” exclaimed Helen a moment 
later. "But how beautiful! Why, it stands right up 
as if it were proud of being set around the edge of 
a parka hood.” 

"Hair—wolverine. No can free 2 ,e in winter.” 

"However can fur freeze?” asked Helen, who did 
not know much about such matters. 

"If you were up here in winter, you would see 
fur freeze every day,” said the missionary’s wife. 
"When the warm air from a person’s breath strikes 
the freezing air, the breath instantly condenses into 
moisture which is soon turned into ice—and makes 
icicles of each piece of hair on near-by fur. As 
Kyana said, wolverine fur does not freeze.” 

While the sun was still high, Harry coaxed the 
Eskimo children outside the cabin. He opened up 
his kodak, pointed the lens at the two tots. 

"No do that!” cried the children’s mother, run¬ 
ning from the house. 

"I am not going to hurt them,” explained Harry, 
pronouncing each word carefully so that the woman 



Among the Eskimos 


291 


would understand. “See? I am only taking their 
pictures. When the film is developed, I will give 
you a print. Then you will be able to see your chib 
dren any time, even when they are out at play.’’ 

“No do that!” the mother repeated. 

“You had better not, Harry,” advised Mrs. 
Chandler. “The Eskimos believe that if their chib 
dren are photographed, their souls will remain in the 
power of the photographer forever.” 

“Oh, I didn’t know!” exclaimed Harry, closing 
his kodak. “I thought maybe she wanted money, 
like some of the Indians down in the States.” 

“I do not think that many Eskimos have learned 
any of the tricks that coax coins out of tourists’ 
pockets. It will be too bad if they ever do lose their 
natural friendliness and their simple ways, for then 
their charm will be spoiled.” 

During the remainder of their visit with the 
Chandlers the Turners found the Eskimos quite un- 
spoiled by civilization, even though many of them 
had taken advantage of the white man’s kind of edu" 
cation. 

On another day Helen and Harry were introduced 
to the local schoolmaster, the native boy referred to 
by the missionary. He was a friendly person and 
soon gave them a cordial invitation to visit his 
school. So, on the last school day of the week, Helen 



2g2 


North to Nome 


and Harry walked over to the neat log schoolhouse. 
After classes were over, Harry expressed his ama 2 ;e^ 
ment to his sister. 

''Why, they can figure just as quickly as we can.’’ 

"Yes, and their hands are trained, too. See that 
table over there? It is just as fine as any that I saw 
in your shop class last term.” 

"It is a gooddooking table,” admitted Harry, "and 
over here is a chest of drawers that I couldn’t make 
at all.” 

As soon as he was free, the teacher led them to 
the Home Economics class, where a do2;en girls were 
busy with their baking. 

"It certainly smells good here,” Harry sniffed 
audibly. 

"Like cake,” decided Helen. 

"It is. Chocolate layer. Won’t you wait for a 
sample of it?” 

Harry and Helen waited willingly enough, filling 
the time by inspecting dresses which the girls had 
made in the sewing classes. 

"Seeing all these modem dresses makes me worn 
der whether the Eskimo girls will wear the parka 
much longer,” commented Helen. "I think it will 
be a pity for them to give up their native distinctive 
clothing and copy our styles.” 

The teacher agreed with her. "Yes, but I suppose 



Among the Eskimos 


293 

it is only natural that we should adopt the white 
man's clothing as well as many of his ways. How- 
ever, the winter skin parka is so warm and so well 
adapted to conditions here that I think it will be 
some time before that is discarded." 

Just then a smiling little brown girl came in to tell 
them that a chocolate cake was waiting to be cut. 

“This reminds me of our birthday," said Helen, 
plunging a knife into the rich cake. “Do you remem¬ 
ber that chocolate cake, Harry?" 

“You just bet I do! We ate it just before Aunt 
Lou gave us our tickets to Alaska. Then we did not 
even dream that two months later we would be 
eating more cake with Eskimos I" 

“There were so many things we didn't know then 
about Alaska." 

“If you should go to Europe or to China," replied 
the teacher wisely, '’’’you would, no doubt, say the 
same thing about those places after your visit. I think 
boys and girls must learn a great deal when they 
travel.'’ 

“I wish it was the only way there was to learn 
geography and history," said Harry. 

“We are forgetting the cooks," cried Helen sud¬ 
denly, remembering her manners. “Suppose we ask 
them to help us eat their cake.'’ 

Helen and Harry left the school only after prom- 



294 


North to Nome 


ising to go on a tour of the village the following day 
with their new friend. 

Up early the next morning, they wondered what 
adventure the day would bring them, for the native 
teacher had promised to show them a sight which 
they had not yet seen in any village. 

An hour after breakfast found them following him 
with swift eager steps. As they walked up the dirt 
street, the door of every log house opened, and from 
it women and children stared with frank curiosity. 

'1 feel like an exhibition,” confided Helen to her 
brother. 

“Don’t let their curiosity worry you,” advised the 
teacher. “My people like you. You know, all Eski¬ 
mos are very fond of children. They never punish 
their own.” 

“Pretty good idea,” approved Harry. “Think Fll 
come to live up here.” 

“I am sure you would be welcome.” The young 
man was serious. “You two have not acted superior 
because your skins are white. If you would care to 
remain here, some important family would be proud 
to adopt you.” Noting their complete surprise, he 
added, “That is a common custom in this country.” 

“I am almost sorry we can’t stay, for a while. I 
am sure it would be fun,” answered Harry. 

The group paused before three thatched roofs set 




Alaska Steamship Company 

A typical food cache in the Interior 











Among the Eskimos 


297 


upon high supports that were like stilts. Helen 
sniffed ever so slightly, for the shifting breeze carried 
strcinge odors. 

“Is this the surprise you have for us?” Harry asked 
eagerly. 

The teacher laughed. “No, indeed. These are 
only fish racks, where we store surplus salmon. You 
see,” he explained, walking nearer the wooden struc' 
tures, we must store our fish under roofs to keep 
off the rain and snow; we must place them high 
above the ground because of stray animals. They 
like fish, too.” 

Helen wondered how anyone could like this fish. 
The odor was so strong that it even clung to her 
clothes. “But Eskimos must grow strong on it,” she 
reasoned, remembering all the healthy round faces 
she had seen up here. 

They were walking slowly now, away from the 
village and the fishy storehouse. 

“Don’t you have sriow houses even in the winten 
time?” 

Now that the question was asked, Helen feared 
that the Eskimo teacher would think her very stupid. 
Instead he answered patiently, apparently pleased 
that she showed interest in the ways of his people. 

“There are practically no snow houses down here, 
near Nome. In the wintertime some people still live 



North to Nome 


298 

in the old-fashioned way, in roofed dugouts. But 
others are planning to build the white man’s house 
and put in it an American stove to keep out the cold 
instead of using lamps and open fires. To the north 
of us, up toward Point Barrow where winter is more 
than ten months long, the people still live in snow 
houses. As for me, I like this kind better. If my 
father prospers with the furs, he will build us a new 
frame house, like those in Nome.” 

So, speaking of the future, the young Eskimo led 
the Turners toward a group of men and boys who 
were squatting on the ground, fingering small objects 
with rhythmic motion. 

''Are they playing some sort of game?” Harry 
wanted to know. 

"Oh, no. They are carving ornaments out of ivory 
to send to southeastern Alaska for the tourist trade.” 
"Oh!” 

Helen wondered why the workers had gathered 
in that one special spot. As if in answer to her 
thoughts, the Eskimo explained. 

"The men and the boys of the village,” he said, 
"like to sit close to the council house as they work. 
The building is over there.” 

"Where?” asked Helen. "I can’t see any kind of 
building.” 

The moment she had spoken she was sorry for her 



Among the Eskimos 


299 


careless question. The Eskimo, however, said 
nothing. Instead he proudly led his guests to the low 
doorway of a long log structure that was partly 
chinked with sod. 

''''Aporniakjnatit^’' he said. 

Neither of the twins understood the long word; 
so they smiled in reply. Smiling was easy up here 
among these good-natured people. 

Aporniakjnatit^'' repeated the teacher. “That 
means in our language 'Do not hurt your head.' It 
is also a friendly greeting when a guest leaves your 
house for his own." 

“Oh, I see! Here I suppose the word really has 
a practical meaning, for the door is low. Be careful, 
Harry," Helen warned. 

“And we call this council house a hashga^ The 
teacher continued to give information. “Here we 
talk over all matters of importance. Here we hold 
our festivals. Here we lodge guests who come from 
far." 

Helen bowed low and squeezied herself through 
the narrow doorway. She stumbled over a low step 
and almost tumbled headfirst into the \ashga. 

The council house was a long low room without a 
window. In the dim light she could scarcely see the 
wooden shelf that ran round the sides of the narrow 


room. 



300 


North to Nome 


“At the time of our festivals we sit upon it. We 
have ceremonial dances down there in the pit.’’ 

Then it was that both Turners noticed that the 
center of the hut had been dug out so that it re- 
sembled a deep cellar. 

After a few minutes they were glad to be in the 
cool fresh air again, much as they had enjoyed the 
Eskimo’s surprise. 

Before many more happy days passed, it was the 
end of August. Summer was over. A cold spell 
fro2ie the fringes of the river. 

“That means we must say good-bye,” said Lou 
Turner to the Chandlers. 

In making their final farewells, the Turners went 
once more to Kyana’s cabin. The Eskimo woman 
was much pleased to be remembered. Smiling and 
bowing she led her visitors inside. Then she bustled 
over to a comer and returned with two bulky 
bundles. 

^Tittle present for white children,” she explained 
shyly. 

Eagerly the white children tore off the paper 
wrappings. 

“Mukluks!” cried Harry with happy surprise. 

“What beautiful soft fur!” exclaimed his twin. 
“Thank you, thank you!” 

“I sure hope we have some snow next winter so 



Among the Eskimos 


301 


that we can wear these mukluks on the street,'' was 
Harry's wish. 

''We will think of our kind-hearted Eskimo friends 
whenever we look at these lovely mukluks," said 
Helen graciously. 

The Eskimo mother beamed with pleasure at the 
words of appreciation. 

Soon it was time to return to Nome. The Chand¬ 
lers stood upon the beach, waving white handker¬ 
chiefs. Beside them stood every Eskimo in the 
village. 

"’‘InuvdluaritseV cried the kindly brown-skinned 
people. 

"That means Farewell," explained Aunt Lou. 

"Good-bye, good-bye," replied the Turner twins. 



Chapter XVIII 
AT HOME IN NOME 

Harry Turner crushed the golden sands of Nome 
between his bare toes. Since his back was toward 
the water, he did not see the giant wave that rushed 
at him until it knocked him off his feet and rolled 
him over on the beach. He hastened to pick him- 
self up before another breaker could catch him and 
toss him into the Bering Sea. 

“Tide must be rising fast,*” was all he said to Helen 
as he wrung the salt water from his trousers. 

“Let’s run down the beach so that you’ll get dry,” 
she suggested. 

A hundred yards along the shore they found a 
ditch cut across their path. In it stood an old man 
in well-patched trousers, digging. His cheery voice 
greeted the twins as they slid to a stop. 

“Are you out for treasure, too?” 

“Indeed, we would like one,” replied Harry, think¬ 
ing of the gold he had found on Bonan2;a Creek. 


302 


At Home in Nome 


303 


'Tlease tell us where to find a great golden treasure. 
We could use one, you know.'’ 

''Why, you're walking on it, you youngsters. 
Wake up! Buy a shovel and dig!" 

"Here? You don't mean to tell me there is gold 
right here in this sand." Harry Turner could scarce- 
ly believe a word of the merry miner's tale. 

"Don't you know that these are the golden sands 
of Nome?" 

"Yes, they used to be golden," admitted Harry, 
"before I was born." 

"What a wise lad," returned the old man. "But 
you shall see that I am right. When the tide goes 
out, there will be new sand here, sand that has been 
washed up by the surf. In this fresh new sand there 
will be golden particles to make me rich some day. 
Young heads do not believe Old John's words, but 
young eyes will see some day that there is still gold 
in these here sands." 

Harry looked up into the old man's bearded face, 
into a pair of keen blue eyes that twinkled merrily 
beneath dark bushy brows. 

"Patience is what the world needs," the miner 
talked on. "Yes, sir, plenty of patience. Now, take 
the gold in this here land. Just because a body can't 
gather it by the bucketful, most people turn up their 
noses at the whole beach. I know better. With a 



304 


North to Nome 


little patience I can pick up enough of the yellow 
dust to buy bacon and beans/’ 

Old John laid down his shovel and looked up and 
down the beach. 

''My pal hasn’t turned up yet today,” he con¬ 
tinued. "Probably he’s out looking for that good-for- 
nothing rascal that’s been around this Alaska 
country.” 

"Is he red-headed, that pal of yours?” 

"Yes. But how did you know, my lad?” 

"It’s Mr. McCarthy,” cried the twins in the same 
breath. "How can we find him? Where does he 
live?” 

Old John smiled at the quick questions. "Well, I 
think I can answer that last one. Mr. McCarthy has 
been keeping himself over at Dexter, on the Dog 
Car Railroad.” 

"When can we get the next train on that rail¬ 
road?” asked Harry excitedly. 

"In less than five minutes. You can make it if 
you hurry. I’ll wager my grubstake you young ones 
will like our Pupmobile.” 

"Pupmobile! What a funny name for a railroad,” 
exclaimed Helen. "Why is it called that?” 

"Run along and you’ll soon see,” advised the old 
man. "Say, youngsters, maybe I’ll go with—” 

But the youngsters were already far down the 



At Home in Nome 


305 


beach, and the sea drowned out the miner's voice 
before it reached them. 

When at the miniature station they paused to 
wait for the Pupmobile, Harry exclaimed, “It sure 
is a shame that Dan has to miss this thrill! He's been 
searching for his father all over Alaska, and now, 
when his big chance comes, he's down in town with 
Aunt Lou, hunting a clue that's probably no good." 

“That's just why we must hurry now and help 
him." 

“Why, what's this coming?" 

Approaching on the narrow railroad tracks was a 
team of dogs pulling a low platform on wheels with 
one or two rough seats fastened on it. Nine dogs 
pulled the platform. This was the Pupmobile. Once 
on board Helen and Harry soon learned that the 
Dog Car Railroad runs from Nome to Sheldon, some 
seventy miles away. In the gold-rush days of 1900 
a narrow gauge steam railroad had served the rich 
mining country. Then the gold began to give out, 
and the new railroad did not pay; so the company 
took the trains away. However, the tracks were 
left upon the tundra. It is on these narrow rails 
built for steam cars that the Pupmobile runs from 
the coast into the interior. 

“The dogs run along almost as though they like 
it," said Helen in surprise after they had ridden for 



3o6 


North to Nome 


more than a mile over the immense Alaska tundra. 

“Sure, and they do like it,” replied the driver in 
his friendly fashion. “But you should see our teams 
in April in the AlhAlaska Sweepstakes. That dog 
race from Nome to Candle Creek and return is the 
greatest sporting event of the year. That’s when 
things happen that prove the loyalty of dogs to their 
master.” 

“Do tell us about the races,” invited Harry. 

“Well, a lot of money is bet on those dogs, and 
there are some folks who do not approve that part 
of the celebration. How my tongue does run on, 
though. It’s the dogs you want to hear about. Well 
do I remember the year that Scotty Allen’s team 
won the race. Baldy was the leader—” 

“Is that the Baldy of Nome that Mrs. Darling 
wrote a book about?” The question came from 
Helen. 

“The very same. Well, in this race when Baldy 
felt the sled running light, he turned around to see 
what was the matter.” 

“I should think that he would have been glad that 
the sled was easy to pull and would have kept right 
on running.” 

“I see you do not know these dogs, my boy. This 
dog was not glad. He knew that something was 
wrong. When he saw that his master was missing. 




view of the tundra near Nome 





















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At Home in Nome 


309 


he turned around and went back to hunt for him. 
He found him, too, stunned and unconscious. What 
do you think that dog did then?” 

“Went back to the starting point for help, I sup- 
pose,” guessed Harry. 

“No, sir! He licked Scotty’s face until he came to 
and crawled back on the sled again.” 

“He did! It’s too bad such a brave and intelligent 
dog had to lose the race.” 

“But he didn’t, boy! He won! That’s why such 
a dog is worth writing about.” 

“How I wish we could come here in April some 
time and see the races!” 

“It would be a pretty hard trip, boy, for we’re 
fro 2 ;en solid at that season of the year. Unless you 
fly,” he added. 

“Fly? Are you fooling? Or do you mean that ain 
planes really do come ’way up here?” 

“Of course they come up here! ” 

“I never even dreamed of that,” Harry admitted. 

“Do you youngsters see what is in front of your 
eyes?” the dog^driver asked. “This is the land we 
call tundra up in these parts.” 

“Does that word mean moss?” inquired Helen. 

“No. But the tundra is covered with a soft 
spongy moss. Underneath it is ice that never melts.” 

“Ice, ice, ice,” repeated Helen. “Is all Alaska built 



310 


North to Nome 


on one big cake of ice? It seems that way to me.” 

''It seems to me that most of it is built on gold,” 
answered Harry with spirit. "It is a mighty fine 
country, anyway. Wish I could bring Mother and 
Dad up here sometime.” 

"I do believe you would like to live here in Alas- 
ka,” stated his sister. 

"How did you guess?” 

"Oh, I did not even need a little bird to tell me,” 
she answered. 

Harry was quiet through the rest of the ten-mile 
ride. He realized now that soon he must leave the 
Great Country. Gold and fish and fur and farms— 
a picture of all the country’s wealth rose up before 
him. What splendid opportunities Uncle Sam’s 
northern territory offered to young fellows! But a 
man must have strength and patience to conquer this 
great northland. 

The Pupmobile stopped abruptly at the tiny town 
of Dexter. On the edge of the town the Turners 
found an old log cabin. Helen knocked sharply on 
the solid wooden door. There was no answer. 

"He’s gone,” she said. "We’ve missed him! ” 

Harry studied a tiny window set high up near 
the roof. "Perhaps if I could peep in there, I could 
find out something—” 

"Well, well, it is nice to have visitors.” 






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At Home in Nome 


313 


At the sound of the strange voice Harry looked 
down, and turned quickly to face a jolly sixdoot red' 
head. 

You re not—?” Helen left the question unfin' 
ished. 

“I am Daniel Michael McCarthy, Sr.” 

Helen was the first to find her voice. “Then come, 
come quickly with us down to Nome! Dan is down 
there! ” 

Before Mr. McCarthy could ask a single question, 
Harry took up the story. “He has been searching 
for you all over Alaska. His mother—” 

“I know, lad. I know. Just two weeks ago I 
learned she passed away. The letter followed me, 
and it’s a mighty miracle I ever got it at all. The 
poor lad, to be alone at such a*time.” 

“Since we met him, we’ve done all we could, sir, 
to cheer him.” 

“I’m sure you have, and thank you for it. You 
are two fine children.” 

“We like Dan,” Helen said positively. “We just 
couldn’t help being nice to him. And,” she added, 
her dark eyes bright with fun, “I think he takes after 
his father.” 

The twins’ admiration for Dan’s father grew with 
every mile. On the way back to Nome he told them 
of his wanderings—how one bright April day last 



314 


North to Nome 


spring he had laid the plans that brought him north, 
searching for the treasure buried deep within Alaska; 
how he had found rich mines near Fairbanks, only 
to have a claim-jumper try to cheat him out of them; 
how he had fought for his rights and finally won the 
claim to his property. 

“So that's why we couldn't find you sooner!" ex¬ 
claimed Helen. 

“It is a wonder we ever did get together at all," 
declared Dan's father. “But I see Nome ahead, and 
in a very few minutes I'll see my boy!" 

The Turners and the McCarthys talked far into 
the short night. It made Dan very happy, indeed, 
to learn that his father was taking him to California 
for Christmas. 

“Now that that's settled," announced Lou Turner, 
“we shall take the first ship sailing south, for home!" 



Chapter XIX 
OUTSIDE 

South of Seattle the Pacific was calm as a tropic 
sea. 

''We are really outside Alaska now,” said Helen 
Turner to her brother as they paced the deck of the 
coastwise vessel steaming toward San Francisco. 

"But we have Dan’s visit to look forward to,” her 
brother reminded her. "A rich mine in his family 
certainly has not spoiled him.” 

"Look! Look!” interrupted Helen. "The sun’s 
going to bed. It does retire early down here.” 

"Glad to get home?” Harry changed the subject. 

"Rather. If Mother and Pops were with us, 
though, I wouldn’t be so sure.” 

"It has been a dandy vacation! ” 

"You bet! And we will always have things to 
remember it by—our mukluks, our blankets. Little 
Raven, Sparkling Water, and Dan.” 


315 


3i6 


North to Nome 


Harry wondered whether he would ever see his 
Thlinkit friends again. He remembered that just be' 
fore leaving, the son of the chief had solemnly pre' 
dieted that some day Helen and Harry would come 
back to stay a long time. Perhaps, some day. 

“The pictures are fine, too.” Helen’s words cut 
into her brother’s thoughts. “Even the mountain 
sheep that we snapped on Mt. McKinley looks 
pleasant. I’ll wager Pops will like that one!” 

The next evening the ship slipped into the Golden 
Gate. On the left the Marin Hills appeared faintly 
purple in the gathering dusk. On the right a million 
lights flashed on San Francisco’s business buildings. 

Helen was happy at the sight of the familiar land' 
marks. “Before I went away, I didn’t dream the city 
could be so beautiful,” she cried. 

“That is probably because we five too near,” her 
brother replied wisely. “But see, we are in the Bay 
now. Look, we’re turning. There’s the pier! ” 

“We’re home! We’re home!” 

Aunt Lou came up behind them. “Time to go 
below now, twins.” 

But they did not hear a word that their aunt said. 

“There’s Mother! ” Helen cried. “And Pops, too. 
Won’t we have fun telling them about everything!” 

And in twenty minutes, by the clock, Helen and 
Harry began their tale. 









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